


Swipe Right?

by shihadchick



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Outing, Fake Dating, First Time, Hook-Up, M/M, Pining, Supportive Teammates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8991868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: When his teammates talk Brandon into giving online dating another shot, he doesn't expect to rope Nick into pretending they're together - and he definitely didn't expect the feelings. Cue awkward conversations, poorly timed realizations, off-ice 'practice' and nosy, supportive teammates.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fromiftowhen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/gifts).



> Thank you to my patient and incredibly supportive betas for all of their help, and to H for a serious last-minute assist. This story bears only the most coincidental resemblance to the actual game schedule, so please just consider all of those details to be hand-waved for the purpose of narrative flexibility. 
> 
> No archive warnings apply, but if readers would like further information, I'm happy to answer in comments.
> 
> Happy hockey holidays, fromiftowhen; as is probably evident I loved all of your prompts and it was a pleasure to write this for you! ♥

"Dude," Cam says. "You have got to, like. Get over this whole never getting laid thing. It's frankly embarrassing, you know? Stop pining about your long-lost love and, like. Hook up with someone. There are like a thousand college students who would totally go for a one night stand, you know? You're not terrible looking, it'd be fine."

Brandon blinks, because that had sure escalated. "Uh," he says. "I'm not…pining? Jesus, Cam, where are you getting this from?"

"You sigh every time we watch a movie when the couple get together, and you never pick up when we go out," Cam says, like that's an answer.

Brandon's not even gonna touch the first half of that, really, that's just—he does not, okay. "No one picks up when we go out," he argues instead. "We're doing team bonding stuff!"

"Everyone else has already got girlfriends or wives," Cam says pointedly, "Except for Wenny and Bill, and they don't even count, really."

Brandon sighs again and Cam points at him, his thumb digging into Brandon's breastbone like he has a winning argument. "See? You did it again. Dude, you clearly want to put a ring on it or whatever, just—at least try dating! You're never going to find the right girl if you don't get out there and start looking. Plenty of fish in the sea, whatever, it doesn't help if you never bait a hook, you know?"

"Cam," Brandon starts. "I'm not taking romantic advice from you." He stops to think about it for a second. "Or fishing advice, actually."

"What's that thing all the kids are into?" Cam asks, like Brandon wasn't even saying anything. "Tinder? Grindr? You should do that, meet some girls, go on some dates. God knows you could do with the stress release."

Brandon hopes his face is telling Cam exactly what he thinks of that idea, and not giving away at all that he knows full well what Grindr is, and that it's not exactly what Cam thinks it is. Or—maybe he does know what it really is, because Cam looks at him sideways, and says, way too carefully, "Or you know. Boys. If that's what you're into. It's cool, no one's gonna give you shit for it, you know?"

Brandon feels his face heat up, knows he's going pink, and if that's not a dead fucking giveaway then who knows what is, he really needs to learn how to be a better liar.

"I, um. Look, it's not like that," he says weakly. "Also, what are you talking about, the kids. You're like a year older than me."

"Two years," Cam corrects him promptly, and Brandon groans again and puts his head back down on the table. Where is Jonesy, anyway, and why isn't he rescuing Brandon from this incredibly embarrassing conversation? Brandon would even take an interruption from the coaching staff. He would definitely rather do push-ups on ice than keep talking about this.

"C'mon," Cam says, having apparently judged that Brandon had been wallowing long enough. "At least sign up for something, you don't have to date anyone right now. But get out there, man."

"I am out there," Brandon says weakly, but Cam's giving him that dog-with-a-bone look that he must have learned from Dubi. "Ugh, fine," he says, and pulls out his phone and downloads LookUp.

Okay.

He _redownloads_ it. He'd deleted it months ago, frustrated and also kind of paranoid that if he put any pictures with his face up then it would be a bigger thing than he particularly wanted to deal with. And if he didn't put pictures with his face on, well. Then people tended to think you were secretly a creep or whatever.

That is probably all going to be much less of a problem in Columbus, at least. Brandon's pretty sure they don't have pictures of the entire Blue Jackets roster plastered around just about everything in town. He doesn't get recognized all that often any more, which is kind of nice, and definitely makes it quicker to run out to pick up groceries when he needs them.

He selects a couple of mostly-flattering pictures and puts them on his profile, writes a line or two about himself and then turns his phone screen to face Cam and says, "There, is that good enough for you?"

"It's a start," Cam says, and Brandon just sighs again.

Luckily for him, Jonesy, Murrs and Dubi all show up about then, and the extra noise and confusion—and additional targets, Brandon is not at all unaware of that aspect—mean that his dating habits or lack thereof seem to fall off Cam's radar.

Unluckily for him, Brandon's wrong about that. Although he doesn’t realize that until much later, with the benefit of hindsight.

Without really thinking more about it, Brandon leaves his phone on the table when he goes into the kitchen to check up on their dinner; it’d serve them right if something burned while they were distracting him. When he comes back--with snacks, he’s not new at this--his phone is upside down and the screenlock’s on, but it goes on automatically so he must have just been in the kitchen longer than he’d thought. There’s no notifications popping up from his email or anything else, so he just shoves it back into his pocket and goes back to chirping Jonesy with the other guys.

He does notice that Cam's looking squirrelly and Ryan is looking a little guilty, but both of those things are just situation normal half the time. Brandon just figures Cam's plotting some kind of nefarious prank, and is looking for new co-conspirators if Matty's not in on it like he usually is.

Brandon will stay right out of that kind of thing, thanks. He has enough going on, and Cam and Matty play almost as dirty as Sharpy did.

They have a fun night in, mostly quiet, and they sink a couple beers and watch the football game, and all in all, it's a nice night. Well, until Cam stops in Brandon's drive on his way back to his car and yells, "Now go back and fill out your profile, Saader!"

"Yeah, yeah," Brandon yells back, and he even kind of means to, but then he gets distracted loading the dishwasher, and after that he crawls into bed and just…doesn't think about it again for a while.

It probably wouldn't have even mattered, except the day after that they fly out to New York to play the Islanders.

* * *

Brandon's not exactly firing on all cylinders by the time they get on the plane the next morning, their charter heading for New York and a back-to-back with the Isles and the Devils.

They'd gotten to skip morning skate again—always nice—but he'd let himself sleep as late as possible and only woken up with enough time to shower, shave, and grab his bags before heading out to meet the team for their flight, so he was figuring he'd hit a hundred percent somewhere over the eastern part of Ohio.

He’s not the most awake or aware person in the world until at least an hour or two after he gets up at the best of times. Given that he’s planning on napping more on the plane it’s probably an even bet as to whether he’s managed to do more than make sure he’s wearing a tie and that his shoes match. He gets about halfway to the airport before realizing he’s left his tea sitting on the breakfast bar back at his house, and thankfully he isn’t cutting it so fine timing-wise that he can’t improvise. It only takes a second to cut down one of the side streets to a coffee place he likes, and given how empty it is, it must be just after the morning rush has dried up.

The barista is a tall dark-haired guy with glasses and a few more piercings than Brandon can count with a quick glimpse, and he’s looking down at his phone from behind the counter when Brandon pushes the door open. Brandon’s not totally sure, but he thinks he’s seen the guy before a few times, too, and the rueful grin and shrug of a shoulder that he gets before the barista says hi and asks Brandon for his order seems to support that notion. They slip into easy small talk while Brandon waits, touching on the weather and the Buckeyes and the best appetizers at the Thai place down the road that’s just opened up, and it’s a nice way to start a travel day.

Brandon says thanks as the barista hands him the takeaway cup, takes a sip and smiles appreciation before heading back outside to his car.

He’s only about a third of the way through the cup by the time he gets to the rest of the team, and he blames that for how it’s Fligs who raises an eyebrow at him and says, “Hot one this morning, eh Saader?”

Brandon blinks at him, confused, and Fliggy reaches over and gently turns the cup around in Brandon’s hands until he sees the scrawled “Alex” and a phone number on the side of the cup.

“Oh,” Brandon says, and hopes he’s not actually blushing; he’ll never live it down if he is. He doesn’t usually get hit on by guys--that’s sort of been the problem, although he’s not sure yet how ready he is to do anything to change that--but it’s definitely flattering. If a little embarrassing.

“So was she hot?” Sam asks with a grin, eyebrows raised, way too awake and apparently nosy, too.

Brandon mumbles something non-committal and changes the subject to when they’re supposed to be boarding the charter and whether Bill and Wenny are going to be late like the last time, and the conversation just drifts naturally from there.

The flight’s as quick and easy as ever, and even with the caffeine from his tea Brandon manages to catnap for most of it. That doesn’t do him many favors when they also wind up stuck in the lobby of their hotel for almost an hour by the time they make it to New York, something to do with rooms not being ready and their booking being screwed up.

The chairs in the lobby are not really comfortable enough to try and doze in, and Brandon doesn’t want to mess up his suit by slouching too much anyway, so he just sits down and messes around with his phone for a bit. He opens up the ebook he’d been reading but can’t seem to focus on that, which means that he goes through a few of the apps he usually kills time with, flash games and checking his email, flipping through the latest messages in a couple of his group texts and the like.

They get told it’s probably going to be another half hour at the most, but as long as he gets his nap in, Brandon's not too fussed about it, perfectly happy to entertain himself. It’s not like they can’t talk to each other, too, but Brandon can see that the other guys have mostly broken off into little groups and are either doing much the same as him or talking relatively quietly for a change. It’s probably a minor miracle, a hockey team not making more noise than twice their actual number of people, but the stressed-looking staff at the concierge’s desk probably appreciate it. Although the volume will probably rise the longer they get stuck there, Brandon’s seen how this one plays out before.

Brandon taps open LookUp almost on automatic, half-curious to see if there’s any messages yet. It’s not like he has to reply, it’s just a low pressure time waster more than anything else, and he’s not even thinking as he flicks past a couple of pictures on the ‘nearby’ scroll, before reminding himself they’re on the road so that’s not going to do him any good right now. And it’s not like he’s going to try and pick up when he’s already got plans for the evening; dinner with Leds is most likely going to take up any time he has between their team meeting and the unofficial curfew they’ve been keeping since Torts took over.

The message icon in the top corner is blinking, though, so Brandon clicks on that, figuring he can at least see if there’s anything he should answer when they get back to Columbus, and he’s suddenly very, very glad he’s sitting against a wall and that Hartsy beside him is totally absorbed in whatever movie he’s watching on his phone, because--wow, yeah, that is definitely a dickpic.

Brandon blinks, can’t help the instantaneous assessment--cut, curving to the left a little, and definitely not that small unless the guy’s hands are, since it’s not like he can judge by anything else--but he’s hardly even managed to put those thoughts into words by the time he’s moved to delete the message before anyone else can see it over his shoulder. He’s definitely not kind of appreciating the memory, now that no one else is going to catch him looking.

He shrugs to himself and tries to put it out of his mind. Some people clearly think that kind of thing is funny, and Brandon should maybe have blocked them or something, but it’s too late by then. The only other message is one from a girl who sounds sweet, if a little young, and Brandon hovers over the reply button before deciding that hitting ignore is probably kinder than a “thanks but no thanks”.

Brandon does notice when a couple of guys around his age wander through the lobby for the third time, giving him and the mess of loud, dangerously bored hockey players second and third looks. They must recognise them—or almost recognize them, Brandon's pretty familiar with the "I know you, where do I know you from?" glance that he and a few of the other guys rate when they're in hockey cities, or around large groups of fans. He's signed things on occasion for people who were clearly fans of a whole other team. No reason to be a jerk about it, he always thought. And they’re definitely looking, mostly at him more than any of the other guys, it seems like.

Whatever they're discussing in low whispers doesn't come to much of a conclusion, and while Brandon pauses what he's reading just in case he's about to have to dig out a sharpie and be nice to people, they don't actually come over to ask in the end. Some people don't. If it's a kid who looks shy and is hiding behind a parent then sometimes he'll go over and ask, but anyone who's old enough to make their own choices can live with them. He's not exactly complaining about not being interrupted, anyway.

They do get their rooms sorted out eventually, so Brandon changes out of his suit, kicks off his shoes and stretches out on the bed, picking up his phone again to text Leds with an update.

They had half-formed plans for dinner, more so in terms of the amount of pre-planning they'd done than in Brandon's degree of enthusiasm, and he’s pleased that it looks like that’s going to work out for them this time. Brandon had circled this road trip on the calendar when they’d first gotten the schedule, happy that for once it looked like they were going to have a free night the day before a game in New York, and one that overlapped with a break in the Islanders’ schedule too.

What with travel and back-to-backs they’d only managed to catch up a couple times last season, even with five games over the regular season. Brandon had missed seeing Leddy for longer than across the ice during warmups, or as a flash of orange-and-blue--or sometimes white--that Brandon was either trying to shake off on the forecheck or get in the way of on a backcheck. And that wasn’t close to enough, not really; going from spending half his time with Leds to barely even seeing him had been more of a shock to the system than Brandon had quite expected.

He’s never been sure if that was because Leddy was the first one of their Rockford crew to get shifted, or if it was something else. They're all so spread out, now, and even if Brandon’s been on a different team for longer than he was with Leds, there’s something so comfortingly familiar about the prospect of getting to see him, to hear his voice in person instead of just over Facetime or whatever. Nick's one of his closest friends, has been for years now, so something about getting to spend a little extra time catching up with him before their game tomorrow is deeply satisfying, grounds Brandon a little.

Once he's settled, Brandon makes contact just to let Leds know that he can meet him somewhere nearby, or whatever else works. He’s pretty sure Leds has a car in the city now, but it's just as easy to grab an Uber or a cab if he needs to.

They'd talked over the off-season, just a few texts mostly, since Brandon was terrible at Skyping anyone, up to and including his mom and dad, and Brandon had been idly considering finally taking Nick up on the invitation he'd made a few years ago to spend some time out at the lake with him and the other Minnesota guys. With one thing and another, mostly the World Cup and how much time that took out of both his summer and his off-season training, it didn't quite happen, and Brandon had been surprisingly disappointed.

Well. Mildly surprised by how disappointed he was that they couldn't make it work. Not that he would've traded getting to play in the World Cup for anything, even if they hadn't made it out of the round robin. But it had just made him redouble his conviction that they'd make time next summer, not that Brandon was in any hurry for his summer to start so early again. Last year had been more than enough of that experience.

And focusing on summer and training and thinking about the overwhelming effect of being swallowed up by a tournament for a couple weeks right before going headfirst into training camp meant that Brandon didn't have to think too hard about why he was disappointed not to get to spend more time hanging out with Leddy.

Some stuff is better left in the past.

* * *

Nick's more pleased than he wants to admit when his notifications screen lights up with a message from Saader, letting him know he's in town, they got in early but got held up at the hotel for a while, and does Nick still want to do dinner or something?

Nick definitely wants to do dinner.

He pauses for a moment and runs over a mental list of what he has in the fridge before deciding there's not really enough to feed two people—especially not two hockey players—and it'll be easier if they just go out somewhere. Fewer dishes for Nick to have to deal with.

It’s only a little bit disappointing to have to admit he can't just have Brandon head over to hang out in his living room while they watch a movie or tussle over an Xbox game or both. He'd got used to that back in Chicago, Saader over at his and Andy's place almost as often as he wasn't, and it's not that Nick's lonely—how could anyone be lonely in a city of eight million people?—but…he misses that. He's got a lot of good friends on the team these days, even with Matty up in Toronto now, but most of them have wives and families, so occasionally he's on the outside looking in a bit.

He'd date more, but it's a bit much to expect an ordinary person to deal with his schedule, so mostly Nick just goes with the flow, sees friends when he can, and figures that if that's going to change it'll happen when it happens.

Saader's happy enough to meet him, and suggests a time, after first of all chirping Nick a little for what Saader expects the state of his apartment must be if he's not inviting Brandon back there, but Nick just ignores that and texts him back the address of his current favorite restaurant. After first giving them a quick call to make sure they can fit two more into their evening bookings, that is.

It's closer to Nick's place than it is to the hotel the Blue Jackets are staying at, and Nick's as persistently early as he usually is, so while he's waiting for Saader he picks his phone up idly, scrolls through a couple of the apps and the notifications he's had sitting there waiting for a free moment.

 _Five mins away I think?_ Saader texts him a short time later, when he's only maybe a minute off the earlier end of the time frame they'd agreed to meet at anyway. He's so terminally polite, Nick would make fun of him more often for it but it's not like he's much better.

 _That's cool, see you soon_ Nick texts back, and flips back to the dating app he'd been half-heartedly looking at earlier.

Well, he'd say dating app if he was talking to his mom. It's basically a hook-up app, not that there's anything wrong with that, in Nick's mind. He probably shouldn't try to pick anyone up after he's done getting dinner, not with a game tomorrow, but it couldn't hurt to look.

Which is all very well and good until Nick's swiping through picture after picture and his breath catches in his lungs as he _recognizes_ a picture.

There's no face visible, but that's—that's definitely Saader, Nick recognizes the shirt and the outline of his muscles visible through the thin cotton, and it's probably not great that he can recognize one of his friends that quickly just from that, but Nick had been there when that picture was taken. Nick had been standing right next to him, his arm slung loosely around Brandon's shoulders, leaning into his warmth and grinning altogether too openly at him.

Nick's cropped out of the picture, but when he flips through the other couple of pictures that are public there's a few more he thinks he'd have recognized too. And one where you can see half of Saader's profile, and that's enough for anyone to recognize him, Nick thinks.

What the hell is Saader thinking letting his picture be up and so easy to find on fucking _LookUp_? And why’s it showing up where _Nick_ can see it?

He clicks back to Saader’s profile, and right there in black and white under ‘looking for’ it has a checkmark next to ‘men’ as well as ‘women’, and--Nick scrolls a little further--all the other category options, too. He’s not sure if this means Saader’s just terrible at filling out internet forms or--

He’s not sure what to think, really. He looks at it again, and feels uneasiness pool in his stomach. No, Saader’s not careless enough to do this by accident. Which means he must mean it, and--Nick’s brain stutters to a stop there, frozen with too many conflicting impulses.

Nick's equal parts worried as hell for him and fighting back an overwhelmingly protective urge—how had he missed this? He should've known, somehow. And he's going to have to say something, because looking out for Saader like this is really the very least he could do.

"Hey Leds," Saader says, from just behind Nick's ear, breaking into his thoughts and splintering his concentration immediately.

Nick startles and drops his phone onto the table before turning guiltily fast to see Saader standing there, snow melting on the lapels of his coat, beaming at him as openly and uncomplicatedly as ever.

Nick's chest feels tight, and he has to gulp a mouthful of water from his glass before he can manage to say hi back and stand up to hug Brandon hello.

Thankfully, his phone screen had gone dark again by the time they both sit down, and Nick shoves it back into his pocket as fast as he can, almost fumbling with his haste. He's—he should say something, but he's not sure what, and he's going to have to think about it first. While trying to act normal.

Brandon can’t be expecting Nick to find out about this, or he would’ve said something. Which means Nick’s going to have to find a way to do this delicately.

Delicate is not usually in his repertoire.

* * *

Nick drops a couple hints over dinner but Brandon doesn't seem to pick up on them, so it's as they're finishing up that he realizes he's going to have to say something soon, because who knows the next time they'll be able to talk without anyone else around. Even if it's opening him up to some weird questions in return. And it's not like this isn't a time-sensitive issue.

Mostly, though, Nick just keeps thinking thank god he hadn't actually swiped right on Brandon's profile, even if he's none too sure Brandon would recognize him back. Tries not to focus on the part where he absolutely would have hoped to match with him if he didn't know it was Saader.

Knowing that doesn't make it any easier, actually.

But yeah, if Brandon's new at this—and the sparsity of his profile suggests that he is—then Nick should definitely warn him about just how public this is.

"Hey," Nick says, hoping he sounds casual enough. "You want to come back to my place for a bit? It's still early, you can let me destroy you at Call of Duty or whatever again, it'll be just like old times."

Saader chirps him right back.

"So what you're saying is you managed to clean after all, huh?" He pushes his sleeve back to check his watch, and Nick has to hide a grin at the face he makes, it's so obviously and recognizably Saader trying to work out just how long he's got before he should be back at the hotel. "But yeah, that sounds good, let's go."

Nick makes them both tea when they get back to his place, and tries not to notice how right it feels to sit on the couch with Saader again, relaxed and easy, right back in sync with each other again the same way they've done so many times before. He even follows through on the Call of Duty bit, although he blames his distraction—still trying to work out the best course of action—for the fact that Brandon beats him soundly.

"I let you win," Nick protests feebly, and "Yeah right," Brandon says back. "Take the L, man."

* * *

They mess around with video games for a little longer, and Nick's altogether too conscious of time slipping away on him. The longer he leaves this, the weirder it's going to be. The more it's going to seem like a big deal instead of someone just being—helpful. That's what Nick's doing, and if he keeps telling himself that for long enough maybe he'll even believe it.

In the end, he can't put it off any longer, so he sets his controller down on the coffee table, sits back on the couch. Decides he's sitting up too straight and feels suddenly self-conscious about that, as if Brandon will know what he's not saying just because Nick's all of a sudden trying to sit differently, all too aware of his body in a way he's usually not, off the ice. All too aware of Brandon, right next to him.

"So, hey," Nick starts, and Brandon turns to look at him, head cocked, eyebrow raised.

There's nothing in his face which makes Nick think he has any idea what Nick's about to bring up, and why should he? As far as Brandon knows, Nick is straight.

"I just wanted to check something with you, uh," Nick says, and feels the words he's spent the last hour trying to carefully arrange just up and vanish on him. "Obviously there's nothing wrong with it or anything, like that, it's cool, but I just wanted to check, uh. You know your profile on that dating app is public, right?"

Brandon sighs. "Yeah, the guys got on my case the other day. They think I need to get out there and meet people, or—something." The way Brandon's not meeting his gaze anymore makes Nick suspect their actual words were probably a bit cruder.

"Yeah, that's—if that's what you want to do, then, like. Good call. It might get you a bit more attention than you really want, though?" Nick trails off, feels kind of stupid. It sounds like Brandon's quite happy with what he's doing, so why is Nick sticking his nose into his business anyway?

Brandon just gives him a confused look. "Since when do people care that much about internet dating?"

Nick blinks. "Um. That's not—quite what I meant, Saader."

Now Brandon's looking even more confused, and more than a little tense, and Nick's slightly concerned there's going to be dents in his spare Xbox controller. "Leds?"

"I meant, your profile on LookUp." Nick's aware he's mumbling, but he can't seem to do anything about it.

There's frozen silence coming from Brandon's side of the couch, and Nick sneaks a look at him, the uneasiness he'd been warding off about even starting this conversation in the first place coming back and swamping him. He's almost dizzy with it. This was a bad idea, he should have just pretended not to know—

"What about it?" Brandon asks, still looking confused. "I mean, okay, it’s probably not a great profile or whatever, but I had Cam standing over me giving me shit for it, I was mostly just trying to shut him up. I was gonna go back later and look at it properly.” He pauses, and then his eyes widen, and he mouths something Nick doesn’t quite catch but is pretty sure ends with a four letter word. “And—aw, shit. And then I left my phone with him. Fuck. What did he _do_?"

Nick starts to say something reassuring, to tell Brandon it's okay, and then realizes two things in rapid succession, with dawning horror. Sure, it’s Brandon’s profile, but he didn’t make his own account there. Someone else did. Someone who must think this is _funny_. And the only reason Nick saw Brandon is because of what his own account settings are. Nick does a rapid reassessment of what he needs to say, opens his mouth to start to explain, and—

Promptly chickens out.

"Uh, my friend recognized you," Nick says, hating himself just a little for that. "And I thought—I mean, I was just gonna say, maybe don’t put your face on it, you know? Remember what happened to Krugs that one time.”

Nick’s spinning this as fast as he can, and he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t need to say anything else, Brandon’s gonna look at it now, and once he sees what his teammates selected in the filters he can change it back. Or delete it, or whatever he’s going to do. Nick’s not actually going to have to say the words, ‘did you know it said you were into guys?’

“Right, yeah,” Saader says, distracted, prodding at his phone, and Nick can see the exact second he scrolls down far enough to see that check box, because his eyes go very wide and he goes even quieter. “I’m gonna kill them, what the actual fuck _is_ this?”

“Hey, it’s cool,” Nick says, feeling anything but. “I mean, I just wanted to check, and if you didn't even know then it's good that you do, now I mean, uh. Sorry?"

He almost can't believe he's pulling the 'a friend' excuse, one that's almost as weak as it is old. But Nick doesn't want to give himself away—especially if Brandon's _not_ , if this isn't something they have in common after all.

That momentary half hope feels even crueler now it's been squelched so firmly, and it's not like it would have been a good idea to make a move even if Brandon was into guys, but at the same time, this is not a funny prank, not really, not at all.

He feels like he's been kicked in the chest by someone twice his size. This—he'd nearly put himself in such a vulnerable position, and Brandon isn't—this is such a shitty prank, Nick thinks hollowly, and bites his own lip.

It makes him feel queasy because this could really have got Brandon into trouble, if not with the media but also with, like. People making advances. Nick's had people hit on him in bars because they've seen his pic online, before he even had a chance to look. It's led to some awkward conversations. So he steels himself and, like, tries to say that, gently, because it's not Brandon's fault his friends are assholes.

He has a feeling that Brandon understands that much, a little at least. The look on his face isn't the "ha ha, no homo" expression Nick's seen more than once on the face of a friend, it's just… vaguely sick. And massively embarrassed.

"This is really shitty, Saader," Nick says after a moment. The silence seems to demand something more. "Of them, I mean. I know--I believe you that it's not like you'd do that on purpose."

"I don't think they meant it in a mean way," Saader says after a moment. "I don't think there was a lot of thinking going on, to be honest. I'll—I'll say something, though, because you're right, that's, um."

"It puts you in a bad position," Nick agrees gently. "With anyone who sees it and then maybe says something, and even if they don't make you uncomfortable, they—they're putting themselves out there, you know?"

Nick should probably ask Brandon what he wants to do at this point and just let it go, but he's still angry at whoever it was who did this. Brandon hasn't named names, but Nick's familiar enough these days with the Blue Jackets roster to have some good guesses.

"Yeah," Brandon says, still downcast. He looks stricken as he agrees, just slumped down in his seat before he says, "Fuck, this is. I don't even know how to deal with this. Fuck. Thanks to your friend, I guess? I mean, I appreciate knowing. Dammit, I guess this explains some things."

Nick has to ask, even if it's probably not really any of his business. "Do you think they were fucking with you because they thought it was funny, or are they just that bad at phones?" It's possible, however unlikely, that they didn't even necessarily think they were doing what they did. Nick's known more than one person who thought every dating app was the same, until they had a short sharp shock in terms of who was popping up for them to swipe left or right on.

Brandon brightens up a little at that. It's probably nicer than assuming your teammates are homophobes, even if you don't really have anything on the line there yourself. "They—you know, they actually are just that terrible at technology. And they have been giving me shit about how I should actually get out more. And find someone to date. I haven't, like, been moping, whatever Cam or Boone says. I just didn't really feel like trying to meet anyone again yet."

He pauses. "Actually. Maybe I'm being unfair, maybe it was on purpose. But not in a bad way."

Nick frowns. "Say what?"

Brandon squirms, just a bit. "I, uh. I just remembered, Cam kept saying I needed to meet a nice person. Not girl. Maybe they're—maybe this is their incredibly dumb way of trying to be supportive?"

Nick gives that some thought. It's not like it's entirely unlikely. God knows most of their teammates, en masse, are not necessarily the most on the ball when it comes to being accepting or tolerant or whatever the latest YCP buzzword is, but it doesn't seem outside the realm of possibility.

"I guess," Nick says, dubious.

"I still need to talk to them," Brandon says, looking down at his lap, turning his phone over in his hands. "Like, that. Like you said, this could have gotten bad."

"Good call," Nick says, hoping he sounds a normal amount of invested in this and not, like. Not like it's personal.

Brandon's not as frozen now as he seemed to have been when Nick had first explained just exactly what he's talking about, but he's as off-balance and unsure as Nick has ever seen him, maybe even more so than when he'd been a new and overwhelmed rookie looking at playing his first playoff game in incredibly stressful circumstances.

It's some comfort that Brandon actually seems to have bought Nick's story about it being a friend who saw him and passed the message on, and that's good, that means Nick hasn't made things weird or awkward. And the fact Brandon accepted the 'my friend' part of the story so easily is just another piece of evidence to show he really didn't know about the profile. That he doesn't know enough to know about how it works, that he would have had to be physically close to even see Brandon's profile come up through his filters. How much time would that even leave for a hypothetical friend to bother asking Nick about it?

Instead, he's just reacting like any other straight guy Nick knows, thinking about the immediate consequences. Figuring out how to solve the problem, and blissfully unaware of the complications.

The no automatic notifications thing is both a feature and a bug in this kind of situation, Nick thinks distantly. If something had popped up on his phone earlier—and Nick doesn't doubt that it would have; Brandon's hot and just about everyone's type, probably—then he would've found out and fixed his settings on the app again already. And then he comes back to himself enough to realize that Brandon's sitting on his couch, phone in hand as he thumbs through to the main page of the app, and fuck, what if he sees Nick's profile?

Nick’s the one who freezes, this time.

"At least it's easy to delete," Brandon says, voice as soft as ever, forcing a laugh like he's trying to see the funny side, and he's slipping his phone back into his pocket again before Nick's even managed to catch his breath after freaking himself out like that.

It's fine. Brandon's already deleted his account apparently; nothing bad has happened. Nick should just be grateful that Brandon isn't the kind of straight guy who reacts to something like this with awkward, uncomfortable jokes, or the kind of 'ha ha, obviously we're all heterosexual over here' over-compensating bullshit that makes Nick feel like he's rolling around in sandpaper, faintly abraded all over and hurting more than he quite wants to admit.

But Brandon hasn't done any of that, and it doesn't sound like he's going to start, so Nick reminds himself firmly not to get all caught up in his own head about this and just keep talking to him like everything's normal.

Like it's just fine.

"Yeah," Nick says distantly, and bumps his shoulder against Brandon's anyway. Tries not to let himself focus on the missed opportunity.

He probably should come out to Brandon at some point, he'd always wanted to. But there'd always been that awful tiny part of him that had a giant crush on Brandon and had done since that first post-season, since they were down in Rockford and then winning a Cup together and living in each other's pockets. Despite the fact he'd tried—pretty hard, especially after being traded—he'd never been able to tear out the tiny, hopeful roots of it.

This really would have been the way to do it, he realizes slowly; the lowest stakes ever.

He sees Brandon a couple times a season and even if it had been awkward they could've both taken some time and Brandon would've mostly just been happy Nick had finally told him and that he saved him from having random dudes start hitting on him out of nowhere.

Nick could've come off like a good guy, instead of this awkward half-truth fuck-up. But he'd wanted, desperately, to know if Brandon meant it, if Brandon was really—if he swung that way. And he hadn't dared to take that leap if Brandon wasn't, and if he started thinking Nick was going to put the moves on him and freaked out, well. Nick couldn't have handled that.

They pick up the threads of their early conversation again, however stiltedly, and Nick tries to push it all of this to the back of his mind. It's just a thing, just a thing he can take out and think about later, but right then, he's hanging out with an old friend, and they're having a nice time. It's okay.

Everything's just fine.

* * *

Brandon makes it back to the hotel about as late as he's comfortable doing, acutely aware—almost guiltily, which is stupid, because why should he feel guilty about this?—that he'd lingered at Leddy's place longer than he probably should have. He tells himself he'd made sure to stay longer just to make sure nothing was awkward between them, that Nick didn't think he was running away after their exquisitely uncomfortable conversation about fucking hook-up apps. He still feels like he hasn't caught his breath properly, hasn’t shaken off the lingering traces of that bizarre combination of stress and panic that he'd tried to swallow back just so that Leds didn't see him like that.

It's stupid, so stupid to be so worried about this. Especially when he scanned for traces of worry about who else might know he'd had a profile up on a gay dating site and found that level of panic somewhat lacking.

He hadn't known what to expect when Leds had turned to him, not making eye contact and fidgeting, looking nervous more than anything. That someone had seen his picture on LookUp under ‘looking to meet guys’ was not even in the same zipcode as anything Brandon had expected might come up in conversation after dinner.

At least Nick had taken his explanation at face value, that he was pretty sure his teammates had gone into his phone and changed some settings, or something, and—yeah, so this was embarrassing, and wow, maybe explained the look he'd gotten from a guy in the lobby while he was waiting for his Uber to turn up, and he really appreciated Nick passing on the warning, so he could deactivate the account as soon as he could figure out how, ha ha, what a dumb thing to have to deal with, right?

And it wasn't like any of that wasn't true, and fuck, Brandon was going to _murder Cam_ , or at least yell at him a lot, since they probably needed to keep their leading scorer in one piece for the sake of the team.

It helps that Brandon's pretty sure Cam had thought he was helping. In a fucked up way, it had probably almost been supportive, but it still isn't okay at all, and Brandon is definitely going to point that out. As soon as he's calmed down and stopped blushing every five minutes about it. It isn't anything he's going to tackle that evening, anyway. He can talk to him when they get home, after their next two games. Four points is all he should be worrying about for the next 48 hours.

Brandon changes for bed, trying to put a firm punctuation mark on this whole thing, and telling himself to quit thinking about it—obsessing over it—already. He's going to get a good night's sleep, they're going to go into Brooklyn and New Jersey and come back with the wins, and the season will keep rolling along. It's fine, and he needs to stop dwelling on it.

Although he can't help but hope that Leds doesn't stop to think too much about how familiar Brandon had been with the app, that he'd known exactly where the settings were and what they said. Leds had taken their conversation at face value, just let Brandon handle it however he wanted to. Which he appreciates. Not that it's going to mean he takes it any easier on Leddy the next afternoon when they're playing.

Points you have to work hard for always felt sweeter, anyhow.

* * *

Brandon takes the flight home and most of the rest of the day after that to think seriously about what he's going to say to Cam, and any of the other guys who might have known. At least Hartsy has been around the league long enough that Brandon trusts him to know better than to gossip, however well intentioned. But Cam and—Brandon thinks about it some more, and nods to himself. And probably Booner, and maybe Jonesy too, yeah, they all definitely need to think a little harder about how they choose to demonstrate their supportiveness.

If that was what they thought they'd been doing.

It was just over the top, especially considering Brandon's potential-not-straight-ness isn't exactly much more than theoretical at that point. And not exactly something Brandon's really going to discuss with any of them any time soon, either.

He doesn't want to do this in the locker room, there's way too much possibility of being overheard there, so he picks their next day off—one where they've earned the day off from practice, too, even better—and invites them all over for dinner again.

He's had some time to think it through and figure out how to handle it by then. He tries to do his best impression of the "hey man, we're cool and all that, and there's nothing wrong with being gay but that was, like, kind of a dick move, you know?" speech that he thinks they need to hear, except he only gets like halfway through the speech before Cam interrupts him with wide-eyed apologies, going almost as red as Brandon probably had when he'd been talking to Nick. Leddy. When he'd been talking to Leds.

"Oh shit, I didn't even think, yeah, fuck. Sorry. Sorry!" And Cam looks entirely sincere, too, and it would take a stronger and significantly more pissed off person than Brandon is to hold much of a grudge after hearing that. Boone's doing a better job than Cam of keeping his mouth shut, although he'd looked almost as embarrassed as Brandon had felt, which was pretty impressive for a guy Brandon normally thought of as pretty shameless.

So he's figuring things are going about as well as they can possibly go when Jonesy has to put his two cents into the conversation, and Brandon's stomach sinks right back down to the basement again. "But hey, now that we're not being all undercover about it or whatever, you should totally meet my friend Aaron. He's really awesome, he likes hockey but not, like, creepily into it or whatever, and he's a good cook and his ex says he's great in the sack, so, like. You should get on that. I can totally give you his number, he thinks you're cute."

Brandon just blinks stupidly at him for a moment, reeling because that escalated, a lot, and this is not at all where he was expecting this conversation to go.

He's tempted for a split-second, too—someone who can cook and is good in bed is not exactly a small consideration, it's actually pretty appealing, even—it's just. It's a bad idea to date friends of friends. He doesn't want to make it awkward. Plus, this conversation was meant to be him asserting he's not into guys, because like, mostly he likes girls, and he doesn't want to make a big deal about it, but Boone and Seth and Cam have been so accepting and so clearly desperate to make it obvious that it's cool that Brandon almost doesn't want to disappoint them. Doesn't quite want to push away this moment where he can actually feel good about who he is instead of keeping on _lying_ about it. But—

He's still not going to date this Aaron guy, that's a terrible idea.

He can't say that though.

"Oh, you should've said something earlier," Brandon lies, desperately grateful there aren't any more witnesses to this. "I might, I mean, thanks for the offer, but I'm actually—seeing someone?" And there he goes, still playing pronoun games, even when he doesn't mean to.

Cam lights up, clearly thrilled for him. "Dude, that's awesome, it's about time. Sorry if we made it awkward, then. Wait, is that where you were in New York the other night?"

Brandon opens his mouth to say no but—it's the perfect excuse, it gives him a cast-iron way to get out of being set up with people and means he doesn't have to produce someone for, like, wives and girlfriends type things. Long-distance relationships aren't going to be expected to turn up for anything more than major holidays if that, and Christmas is still a long way off. Besides, if he wants to date someone else at some future point, well, it's easy enough to 'break up' with a fake girlfriend or boyfriend who's out of state. That's less suspicious than 'in Canada', too.

And, not that he wants to really think too hard about it right now, if they jump to the conclusion that it's a boyfriend, well. That'll be good for them. Gets them used to it, for real kind of. Even if Brandon dating guys is pretty much a hundred percent theoretical still, it's—it's nice to know they'd have his back if that was the case. And if it's not, well. He's doing a solid for any gay or bi guys who turn up later. Brandon can definitely take that one for the team.

"Yeah," he says slowly. "We, um, went to get dinner, it was…nice." He trails off lamely, not really sure what else to say. He's never really been one for locker room talk, or at least not the sort of bragging that gets into details. And he definitely doesn't want to say anything he can get caught out on later.

Except it turns out that ship has sailed, because Brandon didn't even see Nicky at the doorway—and why did Brandon give him a key, goddammit? He's clearly been there for a while, because he interrupts with a pleased, "You and Leddy? Aww, Saader, that's adorable," and he comes over and punches Brandon's biceps, beaming like a proud father. Which is ridiculous, because he's not that much older than Brandon, and also—oh, shit.

He'd forgotten he'd told Fliggy he was getting dinner with Leds, and now—he looks from Nick, to Cam, to Booner and Jonesy, all looking way too interested—and swallows, hard.

They've all just taken this on board, obviously happy for him, clearly convinced that of course he's happily dating Leds, and—fuck, if Brandon had actually been coming out to anyone on purpose he couldn't have wished for it to go any better than this, but if he tries to confess now that he's not, well. There's no good way out of this mess.

He takes a slow breath in, thinks about it some more. There's nothing to say that he can't do the whole fake breakup thing with Leddy, instead, if he has to. It'll be just as much of a safety net this way, too, and there's probably not all that many guys in Columbus who'll have any kind of social conversation with any of the Islanders, it's not like they see them more than four times this season anyway, this is fine.

Nick was cool with this whole thing to start with, was a total bro who did him a solid by, like, telling him and not chirping him or ditching him or whatever. He's pretty sure if he needs Leds to be his beard, well. They'll be fine. God knows Shawzy spent enough time teasing them about their bromance or whatever he was calling it. He and Leddy are good, this will be fine, and apparently Brandon's team is filled with secret romantics who just want to get everyone safely coupled up. It's gooey and a little bit embarrassing, but it's certainly not bad. This is not at all the sort of thing that should be making Brandon feel vaguely nauseated and sad and yearning.

"Sooo," Brandon says, trying desperately to get a handle on this situation. "Can you guys quit grilling me about my love life already and, like, pick some pizza or something? We should get food." And Brandon is not cooking for them this time, not after what they did the last time he left everyone unattended in his living room.

"Pizza?" Fliggy says, sounding interested, and not in the 'gonna rat them all out to the coaches for going off the meal plan' type of way, either.

"Sure," Brandon says with a sigh. What's one more person. Especially since if Fliggy's inviting himself over for dinner it means that Janelle and the kids aren't home either, which is pretty much exactly the situation when Brandon would usually wind up inviting him over anyhow.

Living right next to a teammate has its up and downsides. Brandon's not sure which this one qualifies as yet. Given the way that the guys finally let the whole dating thing drop and start bickering over what to order instead, at least Brandon's going to count it as a win for today.

He goes over to the TV to check everything's set up still for the Xbox, because if he's got the guys staying over for any longer than dinner takes they should probably make sure there's something to do that doesn't involve making their own fun.

* * *

"Got ten mins?"

Nick blinks down at his phone and wonders if Saader meant to text him or someone else. That sounds like the middle of a conversation more than the start of one, and Saader's nothing if not well-mannered. He pretty much always starts with hello and asking how Nick is, had done even when he'd been struggling himself with his trade and then the Jackets' start the year before.

Nick's the one whose team is struggling to find its feet now, and he's not enjoying the experience any more than he thinks Brandon must have. It does make it stand out a little more that Saader led with that, though.

"Sure thing," he texts back, waits a second for that to go through and then adds, "nothing much going on here, we're off and the hotel is boring as fuck."

Maybe Saader will distract him from dwelling on the fact that the Isles are in the middle of maybe the worst losing streak they've had since Nick started wearing the blue and orange. That'd be nice, anyway.

"Cool," Brandon sends back and then, "You know what I mean." Punctuated and everything; Saader's not acting that weird after all, Nick guesses. "Hey, so can I give you a call real quick?"

Nick can't think of anything that they'd need to discuss over the phone rather than just via text or whatsapp or snapchat or whatever, but it might be marginally more interesting than the CSI marathon on the hotel cable, or whatever card game Stromer tried to rope him into after lunch, so Nick fires back a "Sure, any time from now till dinner's good for me."

There’s a pause, and then the phone rings in Nick's hand, Saader's name and number coming up on the caller ID.

"Hey," Nick says, stretching out on the bed, tucking his toes underneath the covers where they're rucked up at the end. He's not the neatest sleeper. "What's up, Saader?"

"Uhh," Saader says, not at all helpfully. "I mean. Hi. How are you?"

Nick rolls his eyes to himself but answers anyway. "Not bad, you know. Road trip's a road trip, same old. What's up with you?"

There's clearly something up with him, Nick doesn't need to have known Saader as long as he has to be sure about that. It's all there in the request to call when normally they'd just Facetime each other or text, and in Brandon short-circuiting all the usual social niceties.

"So, uhh, you remember when we got dinner the other week?"

Nick's been working hard on forgetting about that, actually. Or at least, to forget that incredibly awkward conversation they'd had at his place afterward. He'd gone through his own LookUp profile and deleted out anything that looked even marginally identifiable, just in case, a little too shook by having Brandon come so close to getting outed. More jumpy about the fact that Brandon could have seen his profile up there, if Nick's being honest with himself. He's not sure whether that would've made it easier, if Brandon had found out himself and been curious enough to go looking anyway. Nick sure doesn't expect to see teammates or ex-teammates on hook-up apps, so maybe he wouldn't have known anyway.

Nick clears his throat and reminds himself to answer out loud. "Yeah, sure."

He should have been expecting this call, really. He'd encouraged Saader to talk to his teammates about the whole faking his profile thing, so obviously they've been shitty about it, or maybe just weird, and Saader needs to debrief. Maybe vent, Nick's gonna be there for him whichever way it is, though he hopes for Brandon's sake it's not the first option.

"So I was talking to the guys before dinner—you know, about the, um." Brandon pauses, and Nick can hear him swallow. "The whole dating app thing. They were actually pretty good about it."

Nick makes a 'cool, go on' type of noise, and waits for Saader to keep talking. He'll get to the point eventually, and Nick's got a good hour before he has to worry about moving or eating or anything, he's in no rush.

"Maybe, uh. Too good?"

Nick snorts. "So they're getting gold stars in being supportive or whatever?"

He's not sure how that's a problem. Although if there's anything he wouldn't put past a group of hockey players, finding a way to be supportive and completely fucking annoying about it at the same time is definitely a strong possibility.

Brandon sighs.

"They assumed I freaked out because I was already dating someone and just didn’t want to tell them before that," Saader says. 

Nick snorts, then thinks maybe that was kind of rude. "Are you?"

It's not exactly unreasonable; it's not like he and Saader talk every day or anything, and Nick's dated people without ever really bringing it up around friends in the past, at least not until the relationship got serious enough that it was worth introducing people to each other.

"No!" Saader protests. "Except then I figured maybe they'd lay off and shut up about it if I let them keep believing that, so I said yeah, I'm doing a long-distance thing—"

"Yeah, that'll probably work," Nick says. The logic works well enough, and if Saader doesn't have anyone to take to the next team event that involves significant others, well, it's easy enough to let them all believe something just came up.

"The problem is," Saader says, much more slowly, like he's reluctant to actually admit this. "Uh."

Nick wriggles on the mattress, scoots down a little so the phone is jammed between his head and the pillow, so he's not straining his shoulder or his neck. If it's gonna take Saader this long to spit out what's bothering him, then Nick's gonna be comfortable, thanks.

It's exactly the right temperature in his room to nap still, which means it's just a tiny bit cool, enough that Nick's thinking about trying to grab the sheet with his toes and pull it up to his waist at least, and he's zoning out a little on Saader. Not that he's not listening, he's just—not as completely attentive as he could be. So sue him, he only woke up like twenty minutes ago.

"The problem is," Saader starts again, "that I kind of said that was what I was doing in New York."

Nick can probably find Saader a plausible girl, maybe one of Syd's friends, that's easy enough to ask about.

"Uh huh?" Nick prompts, waiting for Saader to ask.

"Oh, right," Saader says, and he sighs again. "I forgot, um, Nicky—Foligno, that is, he walked in on this conversation. And, so, he kind of jumped to a conclusion. That he shared. Out loud."

Nick's stomach flips, although he's not quite sure why. Saader sounds kind of freaked out though, and Nick's starting to get the impression there's more than just his embarrassment at stake here.

"He knew we were getting dinner," Brandon says bluntly.

Nick's mouth goes dry and he sits up way too fast, makes himself a little light-headed with it.

"Wait, what?"

"He remembered we got dinner, and he just sounded so _happy_ about it and I guess, I mean I figured you were cool about everything at the time, and they were all so desperate to be supportive that I didn't want to correct them and it's, like, good for them to get used to a teammate maybe dating guys, right? So I thought, I mean, I said—"

"Saader, breathe," Nick interrupts him to say, although he's not all that sure his own breathing is all that steady. Brandon's teammates think he—

And Brandon's just _letting them_?

"I figured you wouldn't mind pretending," Brandon said, his voice very small. "I'm sorry, I didn't—I didn't know what else to do, they sort of took me by surprise."

"No shit," Nick says, still trying to wrap his mind about it. "They think we're _dating_?"

"Yeah. They were pretty cool about it, actually. They're good guys."

Good guys who could've outed a maybe-not-that-straight after all Brandon on a hook-up app, Nick reminds himself, trying to squelch any slightly more positive feelings about members of the Columbus Blue Jackets not named Brandon. Not named Brandon Saad, he corrects mentally, since Dubinsky is definitely also not going on Nick's list of favorite people, even if he is friends with Saader now too.

"But you're not—" Nick starts to ask, and then loses track of his sentence when his mind starts traitorously presenting him with a highlights package of just how nice it would be to date Saader. He needs to put a pin in this, fast. "But we're not, obviously."

"I figure I can just say, you know, whatever, maybe we 'break up' before Christmas or something, and it gets them off my back for a couple weeks?" Brandon's voice is less certain about that, strained the way Nick hasn't heard him sound in months, and Nick's first instinct is to agree with anything he has to that'll make that stop.

"So you want me to be your beard," Nick says slowly. He can't believe he's considering going along with this.

"Well, you're used to having a pretty good one," Brandon jokes, awkwardly, but Nick's lips twitch despite himself, trying to grin at the weak joke. "But, um. Yeah. If you're okay with that?"

Nick's a fucking idiot.

"Yeah," he says. "Just, I dunno, tell me what you need me to do. You owe me for this, Saader."

"I'll get dinner next time we're in town," Brandon promises. "Thank you, seriously, just. I appreciate it. Sorry my teammates suck."

"They kinda do," Nick agrees, too quickly given Brandon's automatic protest, but they both wind up laughing at themselves a couple of seconds later, and they wrap up the call a few minutes later, with Nick begging off claiming he has to get ready for dinner with the boys, and Brandon claiming unspecified stuff that he has to do around the house.

Nick's pretty glad to just have an apartment, a house sounds like an awful lot of space to fill with just him and maybe a dog. But the beginning of last season aside, Saader sounds pretty happy in his.

And Nick guesses he's happy that Brandon's happy where he is in Columbus, now.

Even if his teammates need to quit being so fucking nosy.

* * *

Brandon's not the only one with nosy teammates, it turns out.

Nick doesn't think he's acting any different than usual—he can't be excited about a completely fictional relationship he's pretending to be in, come on—but Boych gives him a couple of looks during their morning skate, elbows Nick when they're milling around by the half-boards and asks, "So what gives?"

Nick's got to stop jumping to conclusions, he thinks, and so he gives Boych a quizzical look right back, and bumps his shoulder, hoping to knock him into the glass. Naturally, Boych doesn't budge an inch. That's what Nick gets for trying that on someone who's got a good thirty pounds on him.

"What're you talking about?" Nick asks, back-skating a little when the line of guys in front of them starts moving. This way Boych can't sneak up on him. Although it's not like they can really talk much in the middle of a drill; Nick doesn't want to get sloppy or give the coaches a good reason to yell at him.

Johnny seems to have come to the same conclusion, because he shoots a quick glance at Cronin and shrugs. "Don't worry about it," he says, and then taps Nick on the shin-pads with the toe of his stick. "Get to it, Leds."

Nick doesn't bother replying, but he makes an effort to look as attentive as possible for the rest of their skate, and by the time they come off the ice he's feeling good; he's got his feet again and he thinks some of the set plays they'd talked about earlier are starting to come together nicely. Things are starting to get better, and they've got one more game before they get to go home to home cooking and their own beds and their own practice ice, so if they can win this one too it'll be a much better start to the month.

He isn't thinking about much of anything in particular—just about getting lunch, if he's focusing on anything—and so he startles when Boych tosses a ball of tape at his face.

"Ugh," Nick says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and grimacing. He's pretty sure he almost inhaled that. Jesus, Boych. "What?"

"Wanna get lunch, Leds?" Johnny asks, and Nick almost says yes without even thinking about it. They did a lot of 'new guys on the team' and 'd-partner bonding' type meals Nick's first year on the Island, kind of a necessity when they were both living out of a hotel and before Boych could get his family moved down as well. Nick's kind of missed those a little recently, in some ways. Not that he's not enjoying playing with Hammer more this year too, but they definitely hadn't clicked as fast as he and Boych had.

"Sure," Nick says. "Feeling bad you haven't invited me over in a couple weeks?"

Now that he thinks about it, that is unusual. Johnny and Sheena usually have Nick at least and a couple of the rookies and younger guys over for a meal every other week. They claim it's because they can't be trusted to cook for themselves; Nick just argues they like to have some adult company on occasion.

Boych had tried to argue that excluded Nick, too, but hadn't got very far with that when even Sheena took Nick's side. The three of them had agreed, at least, that Stromer and Beau both didn't count. But when Nick counts back, it's been since maybe the first week of the season that they'd done any of those dinners. Maybe he should offer to host something at his place; it'd only be fair to pay that forward. He can check the schedule when they get home and see what looks like a good day off to plan it.

And then Nick blinks, because Boych is snapping his fingers in his face, asshole grin firmly in place. "Earth to Leds," he repeats. "You're a million miles away today, huh? Let's go, we gotta get back to the hotel before Clutter and Zeeker eat everything they've laid out for us."

Catching that, as he was obviously intended to, Cal doesn't even bother to dignify it with a response, but he does flip the bird at Boych before going back to towelling his hair dry. Zeeker's standing in front of his stall ignoring all of them, still just wearing the towel he'd knotted around his hips after showering, and Nick's eyes do their usual skip, half-looking just long enough to remind himself he shouldn't. It's not even a mild crush, not really, Zeeker's just—kind of his type. Nick's used to working around that, it's not like it hasn't happened on pretty much every team he's ever played on. No big deal, he knows how to act.

"All right, hold your horses," Nick says mildly, and he speeds up just a bit while he finishes dressing. They've got plenty of time to get the first bus back to the hotel, he's not doing any extra workouts this morning.

* * *

"So what's up with you?" Boych asks him point-blank when they sit down to eat, and Nick doesn't even have to fake his confusion. He has no idea what Boych is actually asking him.

"Same old?" he tries, and Boych snorts again.

"Bullshit, Leds," he says bluntly, and Nick raises an eyebrow. "Something got into you yesterday, and I'm not saying anyone's complaining—" Nick would hope not; defensemen having multi-point nights are usually a cause for celebration, and he'd had two assists the night before, setting up the game-winner on the powerplay, too. "—but I'm curious, so. Spill it."

Nick chews on his lip for a moment, thinking.

He's been trying not to think about Saader too much since their phone call yesterday—since Nick agreed to be his fake boyfriend, for fuckssake—but he hasn't exactly been succeeding at that. It's a sensation he hasn't really had before, and one he's not sure he's enjoying now; caught somewhere between acting like it is a real relationship and being mildly freaked out about the whole thing. It's probably going to take a while for him to even work out _how_ he feels about it, although if Saader meets some girl he wants to date in the meantime that'll end this charade pretty fast.

"I'm, ah, trying something new," Nick says, carefully. That's true enough. "Um, long-distance, you know. We're sort of taking it slow." Probably can't go any slower than 'pretending to be dating'; that's just about going backwards.

Nick needs to stop thinking about it again. It's making it hard to focus on the conversation he's having with his actual, for real teammate, aka the stuff he should be focusing on. He just hopes Boych isn't going to give him too much shit for all of this.

"Ahh," Boych says, nodding. "That'd do it. I'd say keep doing whatever you're doing, but I think my room is right next to yours and I don't wanna hear it."

"Oh my god," Nick says, and this time he doesn't fight the urge to eyeroll. "I'm not gonna have phone sex with him right before a game or anything, give me some credit."

He doesn't even realize he's said it for a long moment; and Johnny doesn't really react one way or another either, which means Nick's about to turn the conversation back to something much less embarrassing before he even places the vague uneasiness that's turning his chicken and pasta into a solid lump in the bottom of his gut.

"You're fine, Nick," Johnny says after a moment, when Nick finally looks up from his plate and tries to catch his gaze. "Don't worry, yeah? We trust you to make good choices."

Nick's floored.

At least Johnny isn't pulling the 'everyone already knows' thing; Nick works pretty hard to make sure they don't, and he can't believe he just slipped up on something so basic. But it's good that Johnny doesn't seem to care, other than making sure he can reassure Nick first, and that's. Nick appreciates that, a lot.

"It's pretty new," he says after a minute. Hopes Johnny takes that as the warning it kind of is. "I don't know if it's gonna work out, so. Yeah."

"Well, I hope this guy knows if he hurts you there's a whole hockey team ready to ruin his day," Johnny says, before pouring himself some more water and draining the glass.

Nick can't help himself, he snorts. Imagines the next Blue Jackets-Islanders game degenerating into a brawl that no one in the press boxes can really explain, taking sticking up for a teammate to the most ultimately ridiculous level.

"Yeah, that's probably not an issue," he says. "So, how about those Avs, huh?"

"Good," Boych says, but Nick can see in his face that he's still thinking about it. He takes Nick's effort at changing the subject well enough though, and they spend the rest of lunch going over their last video session and systematically breaking down Colorado's defensive play.

* * *

Brandon thinks maybe everyone's forgotten when nothing happens for a week or so, and he's just starting to think he needs to call Nick again and say that they're cool, problem solved, no more pretending required when he's very specifically not invited out after a game.

They've got two days off at home, and it's been a tough run lately, although they've taken most of the available points during it at least, and that usually spells at least a round or two at one of the team's favorite bars. Matty's polling the room so they can figure out just who's carpooling with who, and he skips right from Booner to Wenny, without even stopping to ask Brandon.

"Hey," Brandon says, and waves in his direction. "Am I not invited, or what?"

"Oh, you're coming?" Matty says, and he sounds surprised. Brandon just stares at him. If he waits long enough Matty or someone else will explain. Brandon's good at being patient. "We figured you'd want an early night with your boy or whatever."

Brandon tries not to react, but he knows his eyes widen, and he can definitely feel his stomach lurch.

How does Matty even—?

Well, that's a dumb question, really; obviously Cam spilled it, him and Matty are close, Brandon didn't have to have been in Columbus a full year already to know that.

"Yeah," Sam says with a shrug. "You're on your phone every five minutes, you can actually call him if you get home before eleven or whatever."

Brandon doesn't actually text Nick that often, although they have been talking a little more. But it's not as if that means anything special.

Apparently they're accidentally better at faking this whole relationship deal than Brandon had figured. And the other mistake he made, he thinks, when no one else in the locker room even blinks either, is that when he'd told a group of his teammates who are apparently the absolute worst at keeping their mouths shut that something was going on, and it was important to him, he hadn't actually told them it was a secret.

He'd have figured they could guess that much for themselves.

Then again, considering that no one else is asking him questions, it sounds like whatever they'd said, they'd kept it inside the team. That's okay, Brandon decides, though he's still uneasy about it, and mostly just wishes he could actually go compare notes with Nick and see if his teammates were this annoying too. He's pretty sure if he does go out with them he's just going to get a lot of well-meaning and totally intrusive questions about his relationship. And if he's drinking too he's not going to put good money on being able to keep his story straight— _consistent_ —either. Probably safer to just head home like they all expect him to.

It's not that bad if everyone's on the same page, he can still roll with this. Although he should actually start looking for dates for real. It's not fair to Nick to drag this out longer than he has to. And Brandon would kind of like to get laid again some day.

"Yeah, you know what?" Brandon says, after a moment, while half the locker room is still looking at him and trying to pretend like they're not. "I'm gonna ditch you guys after all, sorry."

"Yeah, you should be sorry," Boone says, and gives him an exaggerated leer, gesturing at himself.

Murrs looks at Boone, looks over at Brandon, and then looks back at Boone before drawling, "Nah, I don't think he's missing much at all Jenns."

Making outraged noises in his own defense, Boone tries to get Ryan in a headlock so he can shove his dirty socks in his face, and half the room—including Brandon—cracks up laughing, before letting the conversation turn naturally to chirping Boone for everything they've got.

Could definitely be worse, Brandon thinks, and heads home feeling fairly good about life.

* * *

"Apparently I should call you tomorrow," Nick texts him, and Brandon frowns.

"???" he sends back, because, seriously, what?

"Apparently communication is very important for relationships," Nick replies, and then, "This is annoying, wanna Facetime real quick?"

Brandon could reply, or he could just open his contacts list and call Nick right then, so he does that.

Nick accepts the call a second or so later, and Brandon grins down at his phone, mostly for the fact that Nick's squinting at his phone like he's just stepped out into bright sunlight or something, and it's good to see him. It's only been a couple weeks since they grabbed dinner, but they've been eventful, and Brandon's looking forward to a couple minutes chatting with someone he doesn't have to stay on guard around.

"What's up?" Brandon asks, and he shifts, trying to keep the phone lined up while he stretches out, his turn to be the one calling from a hotel room in the middle of the midwest. He glances at the TV that he'd set to mute when Nick messaged him in the first place, figures he's probably not missing anything groundbreaking in the Masterchef rerun he'd been half-watching.

"Zeeker's giving me shit for not being attentive enough to you, or something," Nick says, and there's a sound from the background on Nick's end of the call that Brandon thinks might be someone else.

What the hell, Brandon thinks, as if his own team don't all think him and Leddy are dating already. Nick's team wasn't meant to find out, though. Shit, now his dumb choice is potentially screwing things up for Leds, too.

"So anyway," Nick says pointedly, not looking away from his own phone, "I'm calling to say hi, and ask how you've been, and I think I'm meant to say some other stuff but I'm not doing that in front of the kids, so fuck off, Stromer."

"We're not kids," someone says well off screen, sounding incredibly disgruntled, and Brandon and Nick both snicker at that.

"Well, hi, I guess," Brandon says, after he's taken a moment to try and catch his breath. His voice still sounds funny after laughing for that long, and he knows the grin he's giving Nick is kind of goofy, but they haven't got to chirp anyone but each other for a while, and it's kind of nice to mess with Nick's teammates right back. Especially since they apparently started it.

"How are you, anyway?" Nick asks, and Brandon thinks he probably even means it. He's still a little breathless, too, and it makes Brandon think of sitting next to him on the bench during a game, both of them focused hard on what they're doing, listening to the coaches and waiting for the tap on the back to go again, but always aware of each other—of all of their teammates—from the moment they go over the boards. He's missed that feeling.

"Good, actually," Brandon says. "Having a fun week. How about you?" He's being careful not to say too much; he doesn't think anyone who's likely to be at Nick's place is going to recognize his voice, and Nick hasn't said his name yet, either. They've still got this much privacy, as ridiculous as it all is.

"No kidding," Nick says. He can read the standings as well as anyone. "My week's going okay too. Remind me to send you the thing Tyler sent me later, huh?"

Brandon shrugs. "Sure." He's not sure if Nick means that or if it's just for show, to cover him in front of the teammates who've clearly bought into this whole relationship thing that Brandon dropped them into.

There's another pause in their conversation then, and Brandon lets his attention wander, cataloguing the tiny glimpses of the wall behind Nick that he can see, fairly certain he's at home, in his living room. Which means whoever is giving him shit from the other room must be in the kitchen. That sounds about normal, Brandon thinks. Nick's a good host, his kitchen's well-stocked and he usually has a bunch of different tea and coffee options. Brandon's spent a lot of time sitting around kitchen tables with a warm mug cupped in his hands while they talk about everything and nothing at all. If Nick hadn't been so intent on trying and failing once again to take down Brandon's CoD ranking last time they'd hung out they probably would've wound up in there again then, too.

The silence registers with Brandon after a while; Nick's clearly lost in his own thoughts as well, although it doesn't look like his eyes have glazed over or anything, he's still looking at the camera, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Brandon smiles back automatically.

"Hey, so," he says. "I should probably let you go, huh?"

Nick scratches his jaw with his free hand and quirks a wider smile at Brandon. "Yeah, I've got some stuff I should be doing too. Catch up with you later?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Brandon says, and he's about to disconnect when Nick adds, "Oh, hey, Brandon?"

Brandon raises an eyebrow.

"The beard looks good," Nick says. "Been missing that look."

Brandon rubs the back of his hand over his chin, grins ruefully. "Left my razor in—uh, back home."

"Have a good night," Nick says, and Brandon manages a "Same to you," before hitting exit and flicking his phone back to the home screen.

Maybe he'll just skip shaving for another couple days, anyway. God knows it's going to be cold enough in Edmonton that he'll be glad of the extra insulation.

* * *

"Hope that was okay?" Nick messages him a few hours later. Probably about the time he's got some peace and quiet after whoever was there has gone home, Brandon figures.

"Yeah, it's fine," Brandon replies. "Gotta keep up appearances, I guess?"

"Yeah, uh, speaking of. I accidentally told Boych so now he thinks we're, you know."

Oh, Brandon thinks. That's…that's not what he'd expected to happen. He wonders if Nick's going to beg off now, point out that it's getting too weird and Brandon should just suck it up and deal with his own team by himself. He wouldn't blame him at all, Nick's already been so good about this whole drama.

Brandon taps his fingers on his knee for a few minutes while Nick doesn't say anything else, and then hits 'call' before he can think better of it.

"Hey," he says, and doesn't even wait for Nick to say hello back before he asks, bluntly, "So is it okay he knows?" and he has to stop himself from chewing on his lip, fidgeting while he waits for Nick to answer.

"It's fine," Nick replies, sounding perfectly normal and not like he's freaking out about it at all. Brandon's not sure how he feels about the relief that gives him.

It's not like he doesn't have enough going on in his life otherwise, he probably shouldn't be focusing on anything else, especially not a fake relationship that might take almost as much time and energy as a real one, but then again—it hasn't hurt anything so far. And it's not like he minds talking to Nick more.

"He was cool with it," Nick adds. "It's fine really, I just realized I forgot to tell you."

"Glad to hear it," Brandon says, and then he's sort of out of things to say. It's easier when they're talking in person, then he can get cues from Nick to know whether the conversation is tailing off or not, can change the subject when he needs to. Can pick when it's going to be one of those times they just sit in companionable silence and don't actually need to talk. Nick doesn't give a whole lot away over the phone usually, he's just soft-spoken, tends to pause a lot while he thinks before he speaks. But Brandon's not sure what else he has to say at this point, and that really isn't a problem he's had with Leds before.

"So why were you calling me tomorrow?" Brandon remembers to ask.

"I might have had to make up an anniversary," Nick admits. "Cal was bugging me, it turned into a thing."

Oh. Brandon takes a deep breath. That makes this seem somehow more serious than it had. It's not like he and Nick don't have history, they've got plenty of that, but it's odd to imagine it in that new context, to think about how everyone who knows can believe that they've been together all this time, that they talk and hang out and—all the other normal couple things.

"So, does that mean you're taking me somewhere nice?" Brandon teases, ignoring the vague disquiet. God, it would be nice to be with someone that long. He's only had a couple relationships that made it to the one year mark, and he kind of misses that familiarity, the sense of knowing exactly where you fit with another person, moving in sync.

"What, you're worried I won't put out otherwise?" Nick jokes, and Brandon kind of chokes on air. He hadn't quite expected that one.

"Right, sure, like you can resist this," he manages to say after a moment, playing along.

"Zeeker told me very seriously that I'm way out of my league, but I'm not sure whether that was meant as a compliment to you or just a burn on me," Nick adds with a snort. "I would've called him jealous but his girlfriend is nicer than he deserves and she was right there anyway."

"So when you said everyone knows you meant, uh, _everyone_ , huh?" Brandon says. He should maybe be more upset about that, but it's probably not all that surprising. There's more than enough connections between guys on different teams that it'd be surprising if some stuff didn't spread.

"Um, yeah," Nick says. "I think we're doing pretty good at this so far, though. Your guys stopped hassling you, at least?"

"Yeah," Brandon says. "I mean, now they give me shit about romantic stuff I should be doing but that's about it." At least no one's been on him to pick up when they're out, and he doesn't get the sideways looks whenever anyone else mentions their girlfriends or wives any more. He thinks for a moment. "Oh, shit, I didn't even think—this has to suck for your chances of picking up, huh?"

"What?" Nick asks, sounding genuinely confused.

"If anyone asks I guess you can say you've got a road pass?" Brandon says. "I mean, it's not like you'd really be cheating on anyone, if you meet a girl you like or whatever."

"Oh, right," Nick says, and there's something different in his tone that Brandon can't quite place. Maybe he already did, maybe he's just realized an excuse he should've made to someone or something like that. Just because Brandon's not getting any at the moment, that shouldn't be stopping Nick from getting laid. At least someone should be.

"I should probably go," Brandon says after a moment, feeling like he's totally fumbled this conversation. He's fucked up somehow, and he's not quite sure how, or what to do about it. "Tell your boys I got you something nice tomorrow, huh?"

"Sure," Nick says, and then, hurriedly, "Same to you, yeah? I figure we should probably have our stories straight just in case any of them compare notes."

There's a horrifying thought. Brandon doesn't think any of his teammates are particularly good friends with any of the Isles—other than him and Nick, obviously—but it's entirely possible.

"Cool," Brandon says. "Um, good night."

"Night," Nick says, and then there's a click as he disconnects.

Brandon tries to not dwell on it too much as he gets undressed and slides back under the covers, reaching out to double-check he's plugged his phone in again. It's later than he'd usually go to bed when they're on the road, especially with the time-change making it feel later again even though the clock by the bed is showing just before midnight.

It had been a kind of weird conversation, Brandon eventually decides, trying to fall asleep. That's all, definitely nothing worth keeping himself awake over. He can't seem to stop turning it over in his mind, though, trying to figure out what he'd said—or was it something Nick had said?—that's sitting weirdly with him. Whatever it is, he can't seem to get his brain to slow down enough to sleep. He's tired but really not all that sleepy, and that just means he's going to be miserable tomorrow if he doesn't get over it already.

He thinks about getting up to shower again, or maybe make some of the sleepytime tea he usually keeps in his backpack for times like this, but he's already showered three times that day and can't really summon any enthusiasm for a fourth go round. Trying to figure out how to use the hotel-room kettle seems like more trouble than it's worth, too.

There's something else that usually works, though, and Brandon doesn't need to stop and think about it for more than a second before he's running his hand down his stomach, pushing under the waistband of his pants to curl familiarly around his dick. Getting off makes him sleepy, and before that he'll just feel good. It's win-win.

His dick is certainly on board; half-hard even before he gives himself the most cursory stroke, and from there it's easy. He kicks the covers off and shoves his shorts down his thighs to give himself room to work, gets his hand good and wet, swiping his palm over the head of his dick and dragging it back down the shaft. It doesn't take long to get himself really worked up, till his breath is coming faster, harsh and loud in the silent room, his hips jerking up to chase the pressure of his fingers over his skin. Getting that turned on whites his brain out nicely too, knocks everything back to this moment, this sensation, this pleasure. He shifts restlessly on the mattress as he gets closer to coming, straining after it, eyes closed and head falling back into the pillow.

The cool air circulating through the room from the A/C feels good against his skin, remorselessly cool everywhere he's burning hot and Brandon lets himself shiver right on the edge of that sensation, caught somewhere between hot-and-cold, not comfortable at all and yet entirely appealing. He can feel that if he does just one more thing—or maybe something longer, or a little harder, something—then he's going to come, and despite the fact that was the whole point of this, jerking off quickly and then falling the fuck asleep, now he's in the moment he wants to draw it out a little, make himself work for it.

He makes himself pause for a long moment, just hearing the click of the air conditioner and his own ragged breathing, lets himself really want it, and then he goes for what always works, tight slick pressure and his thumb teasing at the slit, slipping in pre-come, almost too much. That does it, and he tries to cup his hand over his dick, not to make too much of a mess, but there's tissues by the bed and it's easy enough to clean up. Easy to tuck himself back into his shorts and pull the blanket back up over him, relaxing into the soft mattress, eyes closed and sleep hovering right there waiting to take him.

He's mostly asleep by the time he lets himself think about how good it would feel to have someone else's hands on him, how much better again that would be, and somewhere in there he slips seamlessly into dreams. By the time he wakes up the next morning, all he remembers is a nagging sense of recognition and the phantom weight of a thumb stroking over the side of his throat, against the grain of his beard.

There's a few reasons he decides not to shave again for a while when they get back to Columbus. The streak's only one of them.

* * *

The way the season is going for the Islanders isn't great, Nick would be the first to admit that. His own numbers aren't bad, although the fact their powerplay is suddenly as toothless as, well. Something that is mostly all gum, Nick has to admit. He's not so great with metaphors, even if he did always do okay in English class.

It's hard not to take that away from the rink, too; he's spent more time stewing over where they're going wrong and what he can do about it than is probably healthy. He's seeing the evidence of it with his teammates, too; a short win streak has them flying high again, lets them believe everything's fine again, and then they crash back to earth with one of those shit-happens all the bounces go the other way type of games that makes it feel like they're all back in Midget again—and getting run out of the rink by a team of over-agers.

It's kind of exhausting, and Nick's not the only one who's doing less, socialising less outside of the team-mandated outings and volunteer events. He'd almost rather do more of the volunteer things; at least going to schools and reading to kids and telling them to dream big and work hard feels like he's helping _someone_.

Matt being up in Toronto now means he spends less time with the guys, too; it was easy to plan things when it was him and Sydney and Zeeker and his girl; Cal and his wife around sometimes too. Nick hadn't felt so much like a fifth wheel then, even if he was technically speaking one, it had just been a group of friends, hanging out. They'd teased him gently about his lack of a love life; he usually just laughed it off and pointed out he'd have one when he felt like putting the time and energy in. They'd been the first people in New York who knew he dated guys sometimes—most of the time—and it had been nerve-wracking to build up to that conversation, but it'd been a relief afterward. And Nick didn't think any of them had shared that information until he'd started this thing with Brandon; until it became something that Nick just—talked about, or around, that he didn't mind mentioning.

That was almost the weirdest thing about it; it wasn't even a real relationship—not that anyone but Nick and Brandon knew that—but he felt almost more comfortable in talking about it once the cat was out of the bag after he'd talked to Johnny. JT had given him a couple of odd looks, but JT was kind of weird in his own quiet, overachieving Canadian way, and he'd never said or done anything that made Nick think he should worry about this kind of thing.

He hadn't expected Brandon to bring up what it would look like if Nick tried to go home with someone while his teammates all thought he had a boyfriend, and it had thrown him more than he quite expected. He hasn't even thought about that in longer than he quite wants to admit. It's not like he's felt anything was lacking, at least not until they'd been talking about it and Nick had run his mouth and made a joke about sleeping with Brandon.

The worst thing was that hadn't even felt awkward. That had just felt natural, and Brandon had played along, and Nick hadn't even stopped to think until the day after that he probably should have realized he was taking this a step or three too far when he'd stopped even looking any time he was out. He'd gone onto LookUp and marked his account as inactive right after Brandon had started this whole thing, because even if no one else he knew saw him on there, it would've felt like cheating. Even if it wasn't. Not really.

Nick has probably made a terrible mistake in going along with this, and he knows it. Because it seems like the only thing worse than having a tiny crush on a friend who you know you can never make a move on is pretending to be dating said friend.

Because then everyone _else_ thinks you're hitting that and you're still just stuck with your own hand and a whole lot of frustration.

Brandon giving him his blessing—kind of, so to speak—probably means that Nick should just go out the next time he has a free night, maybe try to pick someone up, the old-fashioned way at a bar if he doesn't quite want to go with LookUp or Grindr or Tinder or whatever, but he knows he's not going to.

He's just going to hang around his apartment and call Brandon like they do every other night and talk about the dumb shit their teammates are doing and what they've had for lunch and anything else that comes up. It must make him some kind of sucker, but Nick can't quite work up enough self-disgust or conviction to do anything else.

Brandon'll probably meet someone he actually wants to date sooner or later anyway, Nick figures. He just has to stick it out that long.

* * *

Whoever it is at the NHL who sets the schedule must have it in for him, Nick thinks, waiting to board their charter to Columbus. He's either incredibly lucky this year, or incredibly unlucky, because once again, they're looking at a game against the Jackets right after a travel day for both teams, which puts both of them in Columbus the night before, with nothing else to tie them up.

"What do you want to do?" Brandon asked him the day before, tired after a game against the Kings that had gone to OT, and a little croaky with the end of a cold, looking worn down enough that Nick had had to work hard not to straight up tell him to stop talking and go to bed already. If they were really dating, Nick could probably have done that, and he could've also fantasized about bringing him cough medicine and another pillow, and made jokes about how he was sleeping on the sofa.

And if Nick's dwelling on dumb shit that shouldn't make it outside of his own head ever, he can also fantasize about banging Keith Urban, winning the Cup again and getting to visit the International Space Station. That kind of thing isn't going to get him anywhere.

It will, however, apparently get him to a sushi place Brandon likes downtown in Columbus; he'd made the suggestion as soon as Nick had weakly pointed out that Brandon knew what was good so he should just pick anyway. At least he's going to get a nice dinner out of this. And he'll get to spend time with Brandon without miles between them and a phone or a computer in the way. That's going to be nice, too. And only a little bit painful.

His face must be doing something while he mulls that over, though, because Hammer elbows him in the side and says with ruthless cheer, "Hold it together, Leds, you'll see your boy in like two hours."

"Ugh, shut up," Nick says, but he's still grinning a little anyway. He can't help but like how it feels for anyone to call Brandon his like that, even though when it's coming from his teammates it’s mostly because they want to embarrass him.

"What are you guys doing, anyway?" Boych asks, shifting his backpack to his other hand while they stand around waiting to be allowed out onto the tarmac.

"Ugh, don't ask him that," Bails says, making a face. "What would you be doing if you hadn't seen Sheena in weeks? C'mon, Boych."

It's obvious from the way their chirping goes back and forth from there that none of this is because Nick's dating a guy, it's just guys giving each other shit the same way they would in any situation, and Nick can't help but feel a faint rush of fondness for his teammates. Even if they are assholes, sometimes.

He's definitely only going to pass the chocolate heart-shaped lollipop he'd found stuffed into his backpack by the time they were landing in Columbus on to Brandon so they can both laugh at it. He's not sure whether that counts as chirping or being supportive. It's definitely tacky.

"You going to the hotel first, or what?" It's Stromer prying this time, and Nick kind of misses the days when he didn't have half a team sticking their noses into his business.

Kind of.

"I guess?" Nick says. He definitely wants to drop his bags in the room, and he hasn't exactly firmed up the plans he made with Saader yet.

"Better hope whoever's in the room next to you has good headphones, huh?" Stromer says, and wanders off to bug Prince and Quiner instead, leaving Nick there speechless.

He's pretty sure Ryan just suggested that Nick was gonna meet Brandon at the team hotel and have loud sex with him there. Nick should probably be protesting but instead all he can think is, well. He wishes.

* * *

Brandon's not exactly pacing circles around the inside of his house by the time Nick messages him to say that he's landed, and that they're at the hotel down by Nationwide, but he definitely hasn't done much of anything that afternoon while he was waiting.

"I'll come pick you up?" Brandon sends back, already checking he's picked up his phone, his wallet, and his keys before shrugging into his coat. He could get a cab but it's just as easy to drive himself, and then he and Nick can do whatever without having to wait around too much.

Nick's waiting in the lobby of the hotel when Brandon gets there, dressed nice enough that Brandon's glad he made the effort himself, talking to someone who Brandon recognizes after a moment as Casey Cizikas. Brandon's steps falter for a second but he reminds himself not to be weird about it, it's fine, and lifts his chin, lets his eyes go back to Nick. Can't help the fond grin that spreads across his face then.

"Hey," Brandon says, and Nick looks up, gives him a warm smile right back.

"Hey," he says and then jerks his chin at Cizikas, eye-rolling gratuitously, in a way that Cizikas is definitely meant to notice too. "Ignore this guy, he's just being a pain."

Brandon wonders for a second if he's about to get the 'hurt him and I'll hurt you' talk, he knows that Casey and Nick are good friends, and he's kind of flattered, if so. It's good Nick has friends who're looking out for him like that. Cizikas just gives him an unreadable look and says, "Hi, Saader, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Brandon says. "That works. How was your flight in?"

He addresses that to both of them, not sure what else to do. It's kind of lame, but it's the only question that's springing to mind here, although now Brandon's also wondering if he should have gone to hug Nick first. Or—something else.

He's not sure why he's worried about convincing Cizikas of anything. It's not like Nick's all that into PDA anyway, so it's not as if he'd be expecting Brandon to just walk in there and do anything like that. Brandon can't help looking back at Nick then anyway, cataloging the neatly trimmed beard, the beanie pulled down over the tops of his ears, the strands of dark hair curling out from under it at the nape of his neck, a good sign he's gone a bit too long between haircuts. His gaze is warm when Brandon finally meets it, his eyes looking greener against the dark navy of his coat and the black scarf hanging loose around his neck.

"It was okay," Nick says, at pretty much the same time as Cizikas says, "Wow, Boych wasn't kidding."

Brandon frowns and looks to Nick for a translation of that, but Nick looks just as confused as he feels.

"Uh," Nick says, and Cizikas just says, "Hey, so, I'll leave you guys to it. Nice to meet you, Saader, hope we get to smash your team tomorrow."

He gives Brandon a grin that's all teeth, but that much at least Brandon is used to responding to; the pre-game posturing thing hasn't changed much since any of them were six years old, so he just gives Cizikas a grin right back, and says, "Yeah, good luck with that," before he gives in to the temptation to wrap an arm around Nick's waist and tug him towards the door. Giving Cizikas a look a just dares him to say something about that.

Nick leans in automatically, and he's just been waiting in the lobby, of course he's warm—probably too warm with the coat even if it's not buttoned up yet—but Brandon still likes being able to walk with him like that, feeling the heat and pressure of another body tucked close to his.

"C'mon," Brandon murmurs, and this time his grin's just for Nick. "We have reservations."

Brandon's totally killing it at this fake dating thing.

* * *

Nick is starting to have some serious reservations about this whole fake dating thing.

And the worst part is, he's dug himself in so deep now that even if he ignores all the Brandon-specific parts of it; the way his heart rate jumps when he sees Brandon's name on his caller ID, the comforting familiarity of sprawling out on a couch or bed beside him, so easy with each other, the way seeing Brandon makes him feel warmed all the way through; even if he leaves all of that aside, now he's got half the people he knows convinced that he's in a serious, steady, long term relationship. Long distance. If they faked a breakup now, Nick would have to act like he's just had a year-long relationship end, he'd have to be upset or hurt or obviously covering all of that with bravado.

It's slightly embarrassing to realize he'd probably feel that way anyway, because he's apparently also more or less convinced himself.

Just because he knows in the back of his mind they're not really together, it doesn't do much to tell his body not to enjoy touching Brandon, not to get used to hearing his voice again regularly, not to idly imagine what he's going to tell Brandon the next time they talk, and it's definitely not enough to stop him wanting more, all the time.

That's enough of a reason all by itself that he should call this off already, but he knows he's not going to. He's going to just go along with it until Brandon calls time, because having this tiny scrap of what he really wants is better than nothing at all.

He's still not expecting Brandon's hand to land on his hip as they walk out to the car, and while he tells himself it's almost certainly for Zeeker's benefit if nothing else, he doesn't pull away, and Brandon doesn't let go until he has to get in the car either.

Dinner is good, if not spectacular. Nick doesn't need spectacular though, and it's easy enough to fall back into their usual conversational patterns, to reach across the table to touch the back of Brandon's hand when he wants to point something out on the menu, to stretch his legs out under the table and rest his ankle against Brandon's.

He has to remind himself a lot not to read too much into that.

"I think Fliggy wants to double-date next time you're in town," Brandon says, while they're lingering over the end of dinner and trying to decide whether or not to split one last sashimi plate or call it a night.

"Oh?" Nick says, after he's swallowed hard, almost choking on the last bite of spicy tuna. "Uh, do you want to?"

He's not sure they can pull off an entire date with an audience; making tiny joke references to how ridiculous the situation is has kind of been how they've managed everything so far. It's a bleed-off valve for whenever Nick starts to feel overwhelmed, although he's not sure Brandon thinks about it that way.

Brandon shrugs, shifts his weight a little, the side of his foot rubbing against Nick's calf. Nick tries to remember how much blocking one of Weber's shots hurts and tells himself firmly not to overreact.

"I'm okay with it if you are," Brandon says after a moment. "They're nice, I think you'd like them."

"Yeah, I guess," Nick says. If Brandon thinks it's a good idea then sure, he'll play along. Story of his life, apparently.

Brandon hides a laugh. "Really feeling the enthusiasm, huh?"

"I'm tired," Nick protests. "Did you play almost thirty minutes last night? C'mon."

"Seriously?" Brandon says, one eyebrow raised.

Nick nods.

"Whoa," Brandon says. "Sorry, I didn't get a chance to look at yesterday's box score yet. We only had a quick video review this morning, you know how it goes. Who got hurt?"

Nick opens his mouth to say that Pulock had taken an awkward hit in the first, and then remembers that's probably the kind of thing that counts as sharing too much information with someone on another team. "Pulock sat for a bit," he says. That's vague enough, and it's nothing they wouldn't have got from the game sheet anyway.

"Right, yeah," Brandon says.

There's a couple beats of silence.

"You don't have to be back at the hotel yet, right?" Brandon asks and Nick nods his head in agreement.

"We've got a good hour or two," he says.

"Xbox or whatever at my place?" Brandon suggests, and it might be a carbon copy of their last date, but it sounds good to Nick.

He makes curfew, in the end, but has trouble falling asleep by the time he crawls into bed, keeps playing back parts of the evening in his mind and thinking, what if?

* * *

"Late night, eh, Saader?" Fliggy says, with a pointed grin, and Brandon remembers that there are some ways in which living right next to your captain can really _suck_.

"Not particularly," Brandon says. He'd got the same amount of sleep he always does before a game, thank you very much.

"You got to catch up with Leddy, huh?" Dubi asks, eyebrow raised significantly.

Brandon tells himself this time he's not going to blush over this.

"Yeah he did," Fligs answers for him, bending over to start lacing his skates tight, not looking at either of them.

Brandon really should've developed some kind of superstitious pregame ritual which involves the need for perfect silence and not talking to anyone.

"Oh?" Dubi says, and this time Brandon doesn't even need to be looking at him to know the other eyebrow has gone up, too.

Fligs sits up. "I think they went somewhere for dinner—"

"Moshi," Brandon interrupts, and Dubi says, "Nice," but Fliggy's still talking.

"And then they spent a couple hours at Saader's," he says, doing something disturbing with his eyebrows.

"Checking up on me?" Brandon asks, keeping his tone light.

"Janelle heard the car," Nick says with a shrug. "We just put, ah, two and two together."

Dubi mutters something under his breath that Brandon definitely doesn't want to hear.

"Not that I don't get it," Fligs adds, "you don't get a lot of time together during the season or whatever, but if you don't mind us horning in, me and Janelle really do want to take you kids for dinner next time. Let me know, huh?"

"Thanks," Brandon says quietly, pretty sure his cheeks aren't as pink as he feels like they must be. "That sounds good, yeah, I'll, um, let you know?"

It's touching, and he does get what Fligs isn't saying in so many words; being a good captain is important to Nick, especially after last year, and Brandon doesn't need to get Dubi's elbow in the ribs or the look Cam's giving him from the other side of the locker room to know that what Nick actually means is he wants it to be very clear that he supports Brandon, that he can count on him.

Throwing punches on the ice occasionally isn't the only way Nicky Fligs stands up for his teammates, and Brandon for one appreciates it.

* * *

They're in the last hectic push before the Christmas break by the time Nick feels like he's finally getting a chance to catch his breath. The Isles win-loss ratio has picked up a bit which is one small mercy, but it feels like Nick's playing more minutes every night, and after a stretch of five-in-seven all he wants to do is sleep for a week.

Of course, the actual reward he has to look forward to is two days off and then an afternoon game against the Capitals, which is insult to injury given firstly how Caps-Isles games have gone ever since Nick moved to New York, and especially given their record in afternoon games. Nick's not really looking forward to it, not that that's a great attitude and he knows it, but he still can't quite shake the distinct apathy he's feeling about the whole thing. He's more than ready for a few days off, for catching up with his family. Just two games left to get through before that.

Cappy gives them the day before the game off entirely, and cancels the morning skate too; not much point if they have to be out on the ice at 3pm any way, they may as well try to get some extra rest rather than dealing with Sunday traffic and then hanging around Barclays for a couple hours.

Nick takes his usual afternoon nap, makes himself dinner, and then sprawls out on the couch, slightly at a loss for what to do with the rest of the night. He didn't want to plan anything with any of his teammates—they're at the pre-holiday point of starting to get on each other's nerves just a little—and there hasn't been a whole lot of anything he's interested in on TV lately. He flips aimlessly through the movie selection on demand and half-watches one of the mindless action movies that he's seen bits of a few times, but by the time the credits are rolling he's still kind of bored, and it's not really late enough to go to bed without feeling like he's suddenly eighty years old.

He grabs his laptop from the coffee table and flips through a couple of tabs, checking his email and a few of the links guys he's friends with have sent him. It doesn't take much longer than that to exhaust every other site he usually checks when he's got a few spare minutes online, and he's still kind of fidgety, a little out of sorts.

If he didn't have a game tomorrow and bruises all along one side from taking a hit from one of the Sabres dmen the other day he'd almost be tempted to take a quick run, try to shake it out of his system. But it's cold and dark out, the temperature sunk below zero to the point where it's bearable in quick dashes from building to vehicle and then back indoors, but definitely no fun to be out there for much longer than that.

Nick taps his fingers on the outside of his thigh for a couple seconds, off beat, and then makes up his mind. There's a couple of benefits to living alone that he hadn't quite appreciated until he moved to New York, stuff he would never have done back when he was still living with Shawzy.

Being able to jerk off on his own couch in the living room whenever he feels like it is absolutely one of them.

He shuffles around to get comfortable, pulls up one of his favorite porn sites in the browser window and waits for it to load, setting the computer down on the table where he can see it easily, but isn't going to be in danger of knocking it over—or doing anything even more embarrassing.

He pops the button on his pants and gets his dick out, legs spread enough to be comfortable while he touches himself lightly, shivering a little at the sensation. He drags a fingertip up over his balls and along the length of his dick, letting himself sink into the feeling, his hand too dry to feel really good, but a good enough feeling that it sends shivers down the length of his spine anyway. It's enough to start with, that's for sure.

The video he picks is one he half-remembers, something on the front page with two guys he likes the look of. They don't bother with any sort of scene-setting, just two guys on a king size bed, wearing practically nothing and touching each other without the slightest bit of hesitation. The enthusiasm does it for Nick even more than the way they look; he sees guys with gym-perfect bodies and toned abs all the time, that's not exactly a novelty. But the way their hands linger as they undress each other, that's hot. The way they laugh and tease each other, kissing more than the actors do in most porn Nick sees—that's also doing it for him.

All that aside, it's _hot_ , and it's getting him hotter too. He spits into his hand and spreads his knees further apart, gets his hand back on his dick. Hisses a little at how good that feels, varying the rhythm, the intensity. He keeps watching while the guys on screen cycle through a couple of different positions, pauses for a minute when they try to sixty-nine, and Nick lets his head fall back and eyes close while he imagines that, hand moving slickly on his cock, wishing it was someone's mouth.

Thinking about Brandon's mouth, his crooked grin and full lips, the way his skin would be rough against Nick's unless he'd just shaved, and how smooth it'd be then. Nick shivers and lets himself sink back into the sofa, his grip tightening. Nick's seen Brandon kiss girls, even though he shouldn't have been noticing it at the time. But he's seen enough to know Brandon's moves, the way he likes to curl his hand around the back of someone's neck to hold them close, almost possessive. He can't figure out how Brandon hasn't found someone new yet, but that shouldn't really matter because it means he can imagine that he's really dating Brandon, that it's Brandon slipping his tongue into Nick's mouth, Brandon breathing hotly against the side of Nick's ear while he mouths along the line of his jaw, Brandon's hand moving tight and confidently as he jerks Nick off.

Brandon's ringtone making his phone vibrate on the coffee table.

Nick's eyes fly open and he lets go of his dick instantly, although his erection hasn't exactly flagged at all. Fuck, he thinks, diving forward to hit pause on the video on his computer, picking up his phone and then grimacing because his hand is sticky, saliva drying on his palm, pre-come smeared across his hand. Shit, he's going to have to clean up carefully after.

He stares at the phone for a long second, just watching the screen flash as it rings, and then bites his lip because—of course he's going to answer. It's _Brandon_.

He's going to pretend he's not sitting in the dark with his dick out and still hard when he does, though.

Or maybe he's not, because when Nick takes a deep breath and checks his voice is steady before he hits accept call and says, "Hey," as evenly as he can, the first thing he hears is Brandon _giggling_ , and a clatter that's someone dropping _something_ before Brandon says, "Whoops," and then "Hi, hey, Leds, what's up, how are you?"

Nick tries to take a deep breath as slowly and as carefully as he can. Brandon is definitely drunk, seriously and not just a little bit tipsy drunk, the way Nick has only seen him a couple times, hasn't seen him since the Cup run. Or since they'd fallen at the last hurdle in Nick's last year in Chicago, as much as that still stings to think of.

Fuck, he really should've let this go to voicemail. Then he could've had something silly and embarrassing to chirp Brandon about later, but instead he's got Brandon talking warm and animatedly into his ear about something that doesn't make the slightest bit of sense even when Nick makes himself pay attention properly.

"I'm fine, Saader," he says, when Brandon pauses long enough for Nick to get a word in. "Who got you drunk?"

"No one," Brandon says indignantly, and then a second later he says, "But Wenny and Bill said I looked sad and I shouldn't be, because I need to keep finishing Alex's shots. So we, um." There's a pause while he laughs again, and Nick can feel that shiver right down his spine, heat and light and a current that makes Nick want to sit up straight and then rub himself all over Brandon, drinking that laugh in. "We went out and Wenny made me finish a bunch of shots."

"You're drinking water too, right?" Nick asks, although he's pretty sure the Jackets at least aren't playing tomorrow. Brandon's going to be hungover even if he does drink a gallon of water, Nick's pretty sure, but every little bit counts.

"Boring," Brandon says, "But yes, I'm being good, I'm drinking water too." He sounds sulky about it, and Nick can't quite quell the way that makes him want to laugh, so not at all the way Brandon is when he's being his too-mature, sensible, professional usual self.

Nick's other hand tightens on his dick again and he has to bite back an appreciative moan, and then he goes hot all over as he realizes what he's doing, cheeks burning and ears feeling like they're on fire, because, fuck, Brandon's talking to him and Nick's free hand just drifted right back to his dick and—

He knows he really shouldn't but fuck, he doesn't want to stop.

"Pretty sure we're all gonna chirp you for this tomorrow," Nick manages to say, trying so hard to keep up an actual conversation.

"I miss you," Brandon says, changing the subject in the direct, blunt, take-no-prisoners way of the definitively drunk. "You should be here, this is dumb."

"I miss you too, Saader," Nick says.

He has to be real with himself then, thumb pressing under the head of his dick, balls tight and heavy, so so ready to come. He doesn't want to hang up, he wants to keep listening to Brandon talk and fuck does he ever want to get off while that happens. It's the closest thing he's going to get, and it's not really taking advantage, is it? He doesn't think it is.

"You should tell me how your day was," Nick prompts, and that gets Saader talking, his voice low and warm and wrapping tight around Nick's chest until his heart squeezes, sentence after sentence even when he sidetracks himself and goes off on several tangents that Nick doesn't think quite add up even if he wasn't wholly distracted by how close he is to getting off.

Guilt is a slow burn in his stomach, a pit of almost-but-not-quite regret even in the moment, but it's not nearly enough to stop him, and Nick comes, silently, biting down hard on his lip as his dick pulses in his hand, as Brandon tells him how much better his night would be if Nick could be there drinking terrible made up shots with them too.

"Any time," Nick tells him, breathless, but pretty sure Brandon won't notice. He could probably say anything right then, although that's more of a risk than he's willing to take, so he does exercise just enough restraint to keep his mouth mostly shut.

"Mmmm," Brandon says thoughtfully, and that makes Nick shiver again, even though he's not gonna get hard again any time soon, definitely isn't going to get off again that night. It's still something he's going to think about later, when he talks himself into all the reasons why it doesn't count and it's not creepy at all to get off thinking about one of his friends.

They're dating, as far as the rest of the world knows. Nick should kind of be allowed this one thing.

There's another rattling noise and Brandon's voice drops away from the receiver, going distant and more quiet so that Nick figures Brandon's dropped his phone or something, idly hopes it hasn't broken or anything like that.

Then another voice cuts in—this one not at all familiar, and Nick starts guiltily, wipes his hand off on his thigh and then shoves it behind his back, as if whoever it is can see him.

"Hey, so," the voice says, "sorry we got your boy kind of wasted, but he was being real pathetic, so, like. Take care of him over Christmas, eh?"

"Uh, will do?" Nick says cautiously.

"Good!" The voice says definitively, and then, "We'll make sure he gets home, night!" and then there's a dial tone in Nick's ear, and he's got his pants tangled up around his knees, porn frozen as the guy's making that awkward gonna-come face on his laptop, and way more bodily fluids smeared all over his thighs, his hands and his phone than he likes to contemplate. This might be one of the weirdest nights of Nick's life in some ways, but he's not exactly complaining. Even if now he's kind of sticky and gross.

Of course, not everything is orgasms and roses, because now he can't stop thinking about the break again. About Christmas, about maybe trying to catch up with Brandon.

About, if nothing else, talking to Brandon, when he's sober and in control of himself again. That's either going to be really good, or really bad, because Nick's all too aware that even the last time they'd talked he and Brandon hadn't actually got as far as making any plans for the December break. He keeps thinking about how Brandon had suggested, back at the beginning of this whole thing, that they break up before Christmas, before it seems too serious. Too real.

Nick's not sure where that leaves them now, considering his whole 'yeah it's our anniversary' riff back in November means everyone else thinks they're serious already.

And Brandon hasn't made any moves to start dating either. Nick's sure of that, because any time Brandon's not playing hockey or sleeping or working out he's checking in with Nick and watching terrible reality TV shows with Nick while they message each other to make fun of the contestants, or he's telling Nick about the latest viral video that the whole team are obsessed with, courtesy of Murrs or Jonesy nine times out of ten. Nick knows way more about the Blue Jackets these days than anyone who doesn't play for them should, just about. It's seriously disconcerting, actually.

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, Nick has to be serious about this, too.

And he's the one who's invested too much and too deeply, which means he has to get out before he gets even more hurt. That's the plan, anyway.

* * *

Brandon's more than a little embarrassed about letting Bill and Wenny get him that close to wasted in the middle of the season. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and then it had been a lot of weirdly colored alcohol and a vague blank spot. His call logs suggested he'd spent a good ten minutes on the phone with Nick, which he may or may not have to apologise for later, but all he could really remember was a fuzzy sense of warmth and happiness, and Nick laughing at him, which was either a memory or a really good extrapolation of events.

He'd slept off most of the hangover, and downed a bunch of water and Tylenol for the rest of it, and he didn't think he'd lost a step for their game the day after, although it had been close. He'd only felt like he was maybe going to puke once, and that had been at the very end of the third, after he'd gotten stuck out on the ice for a full minute twenty. That wasn't going to make any of the coaches happy, but they hadn't given anything up, so in the grand scheme of things it wasn't too terrible.

He's got a message on his phone from Nick by the time he picks it up again after the game, just a quick 'hi, give me a call please?' that seems innocuous enough. They hadn't caught up the day before; Nick had had a game—Brandon had watched it from his couch, with sunglasses on and a bucket nearby just in case—and then Brandon had been nursing the end of his hangover and not exactly inclined to do much of anything more than feel sorry for himself.

Brandon chews on his lip for a second and then tells himself he'll call when he gets home. It's always better not to have an audience if he can avoid it.

He goes to bug Fliggy after he's dressed; they're not going out to celebrate the win with people flying out early the next morning, but Brandon had caught a ride in with him, so he's pretty sure they'll wind up drinking tea or something at the Folignos's kitchen table to wind down a little after the game, and then Brandon can peek on Milana and Landon and tell Nick and Janelle how cute they are, again, and then he can go home and call his Nick.

It's not gonna be _that_ late.

* * *

"Fuckssake, Saader," Nick mumbles when he answers the phone, after enough rings that Brandon had started second-guessing himself and thinking maybe he should have waited until the morning to call.

"Sorry," Brandon says guiltily. "Did I wake you up?"

"Mmm, not quite," Nick says, which Brandon reads as yes, but Nick doesn't want to admit it.

"What's up, anyway?" Brandon asks, scratching the back of his neck, trying to get his hair to lie flat again. It's always kind of wild when he's left it this long without getting it trimmed, and spending a couple hours sweating in a helmet doesn't exactly help.

"Uh, I was going to ask first but I didn't get hold of you early enough so I just went with it, um, can you pick me up from the airport tomorrow? Around ten?"

"Sure," Brandon says automatically, and then, "Wait, what?"

"I figured we should catch up before the holidays," Nick says. "You're kind of on the way home, and you said you're not driving over to Pittsburgh until Christmas morning anyway, right?"

Brandon mostly doesn't want to deal with Christmas Eve traffic, and he's pretty sure he can get up and on the road early enough Christmas morning that it'll make up for not sleeping in, but he definitely hadn't been expecting company.

Not that he minds getting to see Nick again earlier than he'd expected to. They don't have another game until late January, and Brandon's pretty sure it's the second half of a back-to-back this time, which means their opportunity to do much more than say hi will be somewhat limited.

"Yeah, I can do that," Brandon says. "Uh, I guess if you're leaving New York that early I should let you go get back to sleep, huh?"

Nick laughs at that, although Brandon's not quite sure why.

"Thanks," Nick says, and then more softly, sweet enough it catches in Brandon's chest for a moment, he adds, "Night, Saader. Sweet dreams."

"Night," Brandon says back on autopilot, but it takes him a bit longer than that to actually put his phone down, and then to program an alarm in so he's not late to get Nick tomorrow.

It takes him a little longer to fall asleep when he finally crawls into bed, but he doesn't remember anything he dreams.

* * *

Brandon's up well before his alarm the next morning, and he ends up going over to have breakfast with the Folignos too, helping convince the kids to eat all their oatmeal and listening to them chatter eagerly about what they hope Santa's going to bring them.

He sits at the table after they give up on the adults and go back to their room to play with lego and spins the mug of tea Fliggy had handed him around in circles, staring at the liquid and trying not to wonder exactly what was so important Nick had to fly out to see him so they could talk about it. It's making breakfast sit heavy in his stomach, unsettled and nervy.

"You heading home later today?" Janelle asks him, after she and Fliggy have one of those married-people conversations that take place mostly with their eyebrows. They seem to have decided Brandon's been silently staring at his tea long enough.

"Oh, no, actually," Brandon says. "Nick, uh, my Nick's flying in in a couple hours, I'm going to drive out to Pittsburgh first thing tomorrow."

"Aw, that's sweet," Fliggy says. "I'll give you guys a pass on that whole double date thing for today, since I'm sure you've got other things to be doing, and it's not like we have babysitters on tap."

Fliggy's joking, clearly, and Brandon knows it, but he still feels a little stupid about being nervous, about how talking about Nick flying in has him on edge just the slightest. Maybe it's just because he didn't get enough sleep.

"It's cool you guys are working this stuff out, though," Fliggy adds carefully, in a way that makes Brandon think he's been carefully circling around to this point from the beginning. Brandon's not sure he's in the right frame of mind for Well Meaning Captainly Advice, although it might be worse if it's relationship advice, because Fliggy's been married for, like, five years or something and Brandon—

Brandon can't even manage to figure out a real relationship these days.

"How so?" Brandon asks, well aware he might not like the answer. He's curious enough to ask, though; wants to see what Fligs sees when it comes to him and Nick that Brandon might be missing.

"Just, long distance is hard enough," Fliggy says. "It took a while before Janelle could get down here when I got traded and that sucked, you know? I mean, shit, you do know, obviously, but. I dunno, I guess I admire that you're doing it anyway. I can't imagine what it would be like if I had to play against Janelle."

"She'd kick your ass," Brandon says, very sure of that, and Fliggy nods. "Exactly."

"So, I guess," Fliggy goes on. "I just wanted to say, enjoy what you've got, Saader. He seems like a good guy, and he makes you happy, so. Have a good Christmas, huh? And then come back ready to kick your boy's ass."

"You bet," Brandon says, and fistbumps Fligs because it seems like the thing to do, but all his mind can focus on is hearing those words ringing in his ears.

 _He makes you happy_.

The absolute certainty that Fligs had said that with, like he's been watching Brandon this season and seen something new—something old, in a way, if Brandon wants to be pedantic about it—and recognized that.

So why doesn't he feel happy this morning, Brandon asks himself. He'd had a brief flash of it—the full body moment of sheer joy as every nerve stood on end and said, _yes_ —when Fligs had said that, but now he's right back to mildly queasy, fidgety, not sure where to put his hands.

And— _oh_ , Brandon thinks, belatedly.

Extremely belatedly, the more he lets himself sidle up to the realization that's unfolding slowly in the back of his mind, almost too bright to look at directly.

The bottom drops out of his stomach as he realizes, and he mumbles something to Fliggy and escapes back to his place, drops onto the couch and lets himself slump forward and bury his head in his hands, while he tries to figure out if this is what he's been missing all along.

Fake boyfriend, check; fake boyfriend who's playing along, also check; so… what is it that's been bothering Brandon lately? Why does he feel so shitty, all of a sudden?

He imagines it again: going out for dinner with Leds again next time the Isles are in town, maybe taking him to Brandon's favorite place downtown, talking over dinner, maybe going back to Brandon's place to hang out a little longer, same as they did last time. But this time, maybe they can curl up on the couch after and watch terrible home renovation shows together again, like they used to. Brandon's missed leaning into Nick's warmth, the way he fits under Nick's arms so neatly.

He—

The reason this kind of sucks is actually blindingly obvious, and holy shit, Brandon is so fucking stupid to have gotten himself into this situation.

The problem with having Leds as his fake boyfriend is that Brandon would really much rather have him as his real boyfriend.

He lets himself wallow for a second, imagines how easy it would be to just lean in and kiss him, press their faces together, see what Nick's beard feels like on his skin. Slip a hand inside his pants, see if his occasional thoughts about jerking another guy off are as hot in reality as they are in his imagination, in the porn he sneaks vaguely fascinated, vaguely horrified looks at sometimes. Kind of a lot more the former than the later. He imagines how Nick would sound in bed, his voice low, desperate, wanting.

Shit.

Brandon is so, so screwed.

Because Nick is probably straight, which means however nice he's been about all of this, how flexible he's been in going along with Brandon all this time, that stuff isn't going to be on the table. It can't be. Brandon can't be that lucky.

Can he?

Brandon chews on his lower lip while he tries to think it through again. Half past nine in the morning is way too early for world-shattering realizations, he thinks. Way, way too early.

But Nick's gone along with everything Brandon's suggested, played along, let Brandon drag him to dinner and movies and touch him casually, easily, like it's not a big deal. Nick's been _flexible_ this whole time, Brandon thinks. So maybe—maybe Nick is flexible about other stuff, too.

Although what he might not be all that flexible about is being abandoned at John Glenn International, because Brandon should probably have left for the airport a good five minutes ago.

"Shit," Brandon mutters, and grabs for his keys and his wallet and races out the door.

 _Definitely_ too early for any of these kinds of thoughts.

* * *

Brandon's waiting by baggage claim by the time Nick makes it out past security, and he's not sure at first whether he's happier to see Brandon, or the cup of tea in his hands, ready and waiting for Nick, just exactly how he likes it.

Nick practically inhales half of it—he'd had to toss his before going through the TSA checkpoint back in Newark—and feels like he's finally waking up, despite getting up a good four hours earlier.

"Uh, that was for me, right?" Nick asks, belatedly realizing that Brandon didn't have his own cup like he usually would've. It wouldn't be the first time he's stolen Brandon's cup by mistake, either. At least he's probably not going to wind up catching a cold from him this time or anything.

"Yeah, all yours," Brandon says, giving Nick a tiny grin, looking all kinds of tense behind that, though. "I already had mine, but if you want to stop and get breakfast—"

"Eh, I'll get something later," Nick says. He's not exactly hungry, and it's also not like he's actually booked his flight onward to Minneapolis yet anyway. He was figuring he could play that part by ear, it's not like it'll hurt him to pay the horrifically inflated last minute fare this once, and he'd rather escape as quickly as he can if this goes horribly wrong.

Or be able to stay as late as he can if it doesn't.

Not that he wants to get his hopes up too badly. He's pretty sure Saader's going to be nice about it, whatever happens, it's just going to remain to be seen how Nick feels about that. He's pretty sure nice and a "thanks but no thanks, and let's not do this again any time soon" is going to crush him faster than a crosscheck right on the numbers.

"Okay," Brandon says slowly, spinning his car keys in slow circles around his index finger, more fidgety than Nick thinks he's ever seen him. "Yeah, we can just, uh. Go back to my place?"

"Sounds good," Nick says, and when Brandon pauses awkwardly, looking over at the baggage carousels he adds, "Oh, I didn't check anything, it's only a couple days, right? I went with carry-on."

"Don't you have presents?" Brandon asks, curious, sounding the closest to normal that Nick's heard him in a couple days.

Nick snorts. This isn't his first rodeo, apparently. "Got 'em sent straight to my mom and dad's," he says. "I don't have to wrap them this way, either."

"Ooh," Brandon says. "Good call."

"Vet move," Nick agrees, and there's not much of anything else to say then, so he follows Brandon out to where the car's parked.

* * *

Nick drops his bag by the couch when they get indoors, notes that Brandon hasn't decorated for the holidays or anything like that; not that Nick's place in New York is any better. They're both still pretty tethered to home in some ways, he thinks. It's not bad, really, although if they were doing this for real, then—yeah, maybe then he'd want to pick a place for just them, and put up a tree then, something to make it feel right, traditional and just for them, all at the same time.

And he's just distracting himself now, he's got to stop chasing these mental tangents when Brandon's right there, so familiar and yet completely unpredictable.

At some point very soon, Nick's going to have to take the leap and say something. It's surprisingly difficult to get himself to take that first step, though.

Instead, they both sit down on the couch, not quite as close as the last time Nick had been in town, and stare at the blank screen of Brandon's TV, searching for something to say.

"How was your morning, then?" Nick asks eventually. "Mine involved getting up far too early and a lot of angry people in lines; yours has to have been better than that, right?"

"I guess," Brandon says, and then he shakes his head, corrects himself. "No, yeah, it was good, actually. I got breakfast with the Folignos, played with the kids for a bit and then got one of the talks from Fliggy."

Nick frowns. "The talks?"

Brandon shrugs, lips twitching. Nick gets the impression he's amused, on some level, but that buzzing tension that Nick could sense in him since the moment he'd laid eyes on him earlier that morning hasn't diminished. If anything, it's ratcheted up, however hard Brandon's working to hide it. "The 'have fun with your boyfriend and by the way we all support you' one. I bet you've heard it a few times."

"Not from JT, actually," Nick admits. "He likes to just do the whole head pat, significant look thing. From Boych though, for sure. And from Soupy once or twice, actually." He'd kind of forgotten about that, actually. It had been years ago, back when Nick was still a rookie, and not nearly discreet enough.

"Wait, what?" Brandon asks, staring at him.

Nick can feel his face going a little pink at the memory, but it's funny more than really embarrassing by now, far enough in the past that he can laugh it off.

"I got, uh, walked in on," he says. "We were out at a bar in, oh jeez, Calgary maybe? Somewhere in the Western Canada road swing, I don't even remember now. And there was a guy who was interested, and, uh," he shrugs, hopes Brandon can join those dots easily enough without Nick having to say it, "It wasn't the worst moment Soupy could've walked in on, but it was pretty bad."

Brandon's still staring, and now Nick's worried he's said too much. Maybe Brandon thinks hooking up in bathrooms is gross? Nick thinks about that for a second, remembers all the shit he's seen from half the other guys they're both friends with and then discards _that _theory.__

__"You were with a guy?" he repeats, and Nick's chin comes up automatically, defensively._ _

__"Yeah," he says, hoping his tone says, 'duh', and also, 'hello, I'm pretending to date you as we speak'. What the _hell_ , Saader?_ _

__"Oh god," Brandon says, dropping his face into his hands, his voice muffled, and higher than it should be. "I thought—I thought you were straight."_ _

__"Brandon," Nick says, "I thought we were doing this because _you_ were. I mean, okay, I know I never outright told you, but I thought you'd _guessed_."_ _

__"This is so embarrassing," Brandon moans, and Nick feels a flicker of irritation. Okay, fine, Brandon's embarrassed, whatever. Why does he he think Nick put himself into this position in the first place if he didn't have to, on some level?_ _

__"Saader," Nick says sharply, "I was pretending to _date_ you. I figured you were straight and weirdly overinvested in trying to, like. Make it easier for the kids who aren't." He pauses. "The ones _like me_."_ _

__"Not just you," Brandon says in a small voice, and he looks up then, looks at Nick, steady as anything. "I mean, I don't think I am, I'm, uh. I don't exactly have any of the practical experience. I—sorry, I really didn't want to make you uncomfortable."_ _

__Nick feels his eyebrows rise without his conscious control. This is not exactly what he'd been expecting. He really had figured either Brandon was straight, or maybe bi but obviously not into Nick. If he was really into Nick, he would've made a move by now. And not wanting to make Nick uncomfortable, well. It's not hard to guess there's probably some other guy, someone Brandon likes but hasn't been able to approach for whatever reason. Maybe Nick's been his beard in more than one sense, recently._ _

__Although—_ _

__Nick should probably think about this some more before he opens his mouth, but he can't quite resist the urge to press. "Wait," he says. "So you've—I mean, you never, uh." Almost without meaning to, he's leaning in, now. Sitting closer to Brandon, their knees almost touching, even though Nick's pretty sure neither of them has really made an effort to move. He's not going to be the first one to back off, though._ _

__"Hooked up with a guy?" Brandon finishes glumly. "No. I don't know, I feel kind of dumb. Everyone else experimented when they were teenagers, or fooled around with someone in Junior, or when they got drunk or stoned, or, or—whatever. And I was never sure enough and now. You know. All those guys know what they're doing and I'm years behind. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be all, hey, want to have sex, by the way no clue what I'm doing?"_ _

__Nick just stares at him._ _

__And then he finds some of the words that had been eluding him previously._ _

__"Are you kidding me, Saader?" The words tumble out, almost too fast for him to think about what he's saying before he's said it, and that's dangerous, that's a slippery slope right there, but he can't pull it back. "You'd do just fine. I mean, fuck, you're hot, you're built, and you make a seven figure salary. A ton of guys would fall over themselves to date you."_ _

__Brandon's still kind of pouting, and definitely looking unconvinced, and Nick's had enough, he really has. He shifts his weight, half turns so he's facing Brandon, knee digging into his thigh, and he thinks that's what prompts Brandon to look up at him instead of staring at his hands._ _

__"Jesus, it's not difficult, okay, you just—" and then Nick catches himself mid-gesture to realize he's got his hand awfully close to Brandon's dick, and now he's thinking about what Brandon looks like naked again, which he has really been trying hard to _stop doing_ and—_ _

__Brandon's totally turned on, he realizes, despite the fact Nick's been yelling at him, Brandon's into it, into something enough that his body is reacting noticeably. Nick cups his hand over the bulge in Brandon's pants without even thinking, and the sharply indrawn breath that Brandon gives him in response cuts right through him. Everything hangs in balance for an everlasting second as they stare at each other, teetering on the edge of something that Nick knows they can't come back from. Not after this. Not if he pushes this last, tiny, enormously important step past the boundaries they've had for so long._ _

__But fuck, does he ever want to._ _

__And if the way Brandon's reacting means anything, he wants it too._ _

__Nick's made dumber choices for worse reasons._ _

__So Nick presses his palm down more firmly, absolutely definitely this time copping a feel, not breaking eye contact with Brandon at all, and Brandon moans and lets his hips jerk forward, panting harshly as he says, "Fuck, Leds, fuck, please—"_ _

__Nick's all in now, he has to be. He dares a little more. "I could—we could, if you want to. You know. Get more comfortable."_ _

__Brandon stares at him like he's suddenly speaking Romulan._ _

__"Pretty sure that ship has sailed, unless you're going to let me take a cold shower," is what he says, bluntly. It takes a couple of seconds for Nick to figure out just where they're misunderstanding each other this time._ _

__"Oh, no, I mean, I meant—we can fool around, if you like. You can see how it works for you in practice. It doesn't have to be a big deal, just—we're both here, everyone thinks we're banging anyway, and, like, I've been told I'm pretty good in bed, so." Nick shrugs, trying to be modest. Trying not to give away just how much that would mean to him._ _

__"You're not even the first person who's said that to me this week," Brandon mutters and Nick says "Huh?" because fuck, who else has been hitting on Brandon? And shit, he can't be jealous, he _can't_. But the idea of touching Brandon, of doing anything with him—it's so good, it's kind of entrancing._ _

__"Don't worry, it's not important," Brandon says, with a careless wave of his hand. He's so close, and so warm, and Nick wants to press his face to the side of his neck and just breathe in. "And yes. I mean. Yeah. I could-I'd like that. If you would?"_ _

__"Have you seen you?" Nick says. Modesty, whatever; Brandon has to know how he looks. How many people look at him. "Yeah, I can—you want to take this to your room?"_ _

__Brandon doesn't pause for even a second before saying, "Yeah. Please?"_ _

__"Awesome," Nick says, a little lamely, and he and Brandon look at each other for a second longer, and Nick realizes that oh right, he has to move first. He's half in Brandon's lap already, it's just simple physics._ _

__He does, and immediately misses Brandon's warmth, even though they're about to be a lot closer. A lot more naked. Fuck, Nick has no idea what he's doing. This is a terrible, awful idea, and it's going to be even worse after he and Brandon 'break up' and Brandon moves on, whether it's to another guy or not, but—now that this is on the table, he doesn't even want to kid himself that he'll be turning it down._ _

__Nick doesn't register much of the walk back to Brandon's room, can hear Brandon's footsteps on the wooden floorboards behind him, soft and regular, and he has half a second's thought that maybe he should turn the light on or something, but then they're in his room and he's standing by Brandon's bed, faint daylight from a cloudy winter's day coming in through the unshaded window, splintering across the pale green sheets in the pattern of the bare tree branches outside. Brandon walks closer, stops right in front of him, and tilts his head, like he's looking at Nick and reconsidering, like he has to think this through again._ _

__Maybe he is._ _

__Nick can't blame him for being a bit choosier than Nick himself is gonna be, but instead of making an excuse or backing off, Brandon squares his shoulders, reaches up to cradle Nick's jaw gently between his palms, and leans in to press their mouths together._ _

__Nick thinks ' _Yes_ ', or something wilder and more joyous than that, lets what he wants surge up and consume him, and kisses Brandon back, sweet and hard and relentless. _ _

__They kiss for a while, letting it build, back and forth, till Nick can feel his control eroding underneath him, like the tide crumbling sandcastles, his whole world narrowed down to the way Brandon feels under his hands, the demanding pressure of his mouth, the faintly saline taste of him._ _

__"Hey, can I—" Nick starts to ask. "Do you want me to?" He runs his hand down Brandon's side suggestively, rubs his palm over the front of Brandon's pants, not nearly as shy this time. Not now that he knows Brandon's into this, that he wants it. He's still not sure how much of it is Brandon wanting _him_ , but it must be enough, and right then _that's_ enough for Nick._ _

__"Fuck, yes, please," Brandon pants, his fingers tightening where he's cupping Nick's face, tiny points of warmth echoing the curve of his smile as he leans closer, leans into the touch of Nick's hand and the heat of his mouth._ _

__Nick doesn't need to be invited twice, and he doesn't need to look, either, lets himself busy his hands in tugging Brandon's pants open, dragging the zipper down and enjoying the way his breath catches as Nick eases the fabric away from his body, pushes them down his thighs. Brandon's hard—not that this is news to Nick, not after where his hands have been the past few minutes—and he feels good in Nick's hands; hot and velvet-soft. He draws another soft sound from Brandon as his thumb swipes over the head of his dick, captures the first few drops of moisture, uses the pre-come to ease his way, slick and fast. Nick starts with what he likes, adjusts what he's doing with the feedback he's getting from the way that Brandon stiffens and tenses, tracking what makes him inhale sharp and fast, what makes his jaw drop as he moans helplessly._ _

__He does _that_ when Nick tightens his fingers just under the head of his dick, tracing the sweet curves of him, and Nick grins right back, warm satisfaction curling along his spine. He likes getting off, of course—who doesn't?—but there's something so intensely gratifying about doing that for someone else, about making them feel that good._ _

__Nick lets his fingertips slip down Brandon's length again, touches him more softly. He smiles helplessly at the way Brandon makes an outraged noise in protest, pulling back from the kiss to look down between their bodies, hands falling away from his face before reaching for Nick's wrist._ _

__"C'mon, trust me," Nick says, because he wants to make this so good for Brandon, he's _going to_ make this so good for Brandon._ _

__"You know I do," Brandon says promptly, like it's an article of faith. "Just—fuck, you know how this feels."_ _

__Nick does, and not just because he has the same equipment. He likes to take it slow, both when he's the one leading, and when he's the one being taken apart. He's pretty sure that Brandon's going to like it just as much, he's just going to have to be a little patient first._ _

__"Yeah," Nick says, and then he pauses for a second, looks up—away from his hands and Brandon's dick, and fuck but that's a nice view—and catches Brandon's gaze, waits for him to focus again. He lets his weight rock back onto his heels, shoots Brandon a dirty grin before going on to ask, "Think you can keep your balance?"_ _

__"Uh, what do you mean?" Brandon says, brows drawn together._ _

__In answer, Nick drops to his knees, hands sliding down Brandon's sides to rest on his thighs, thumbs digging into his quads. Brandon's mouth opens in a silent, "Ah," and Nick grins at him again before letting his gaze go back to… eye level._ _

__He pauses for a moment, deciding just what to do first, and he's just as impatient as Brandon is, really, because what he thinks he should do is nuzzle into the crease of his thigh and work his way in, but what he actually does is curl his fingers around Brandon's dick and then swallow him down._ _

__Brandon makes a sharp, shocked sound, like it's been torn out of him, but his hand comes to rest on Nick's shoulder with a heavy grip, and his other hand pushes into Nick's hair, curves around the shape of his skull, tangles into the strands of hair and pulls, just a little. Just enough to make it very, very clear that he's encouraging Nick to keep going, to take more. Nick curls his tongue around Brandon's dick and sucks harder, eyes closed as he concentrates, and the weight of Brandon's hand on his head gets all twisted up with the weight of his dick on Nick's tongue, and he swallows hard and breathes faster and lets himself sink into the rhythm._ _

__"Leds, fuck, please, I'm close," Brandon says, not all that much later, and with urgency. His fingers are tight against Nick's head, not so much directing him as just keeping contact, holding him close, even as Nick tries to relax his throat and brace himself._ _

__He can feel the fine tremors in Brandon's muscles, the way his skin shivers where Nick's free hand is resting low on his belly, is conscious of the way his own heartbeat echoes double-time in his ears and the harshness of Brandon's breathing, coming fast and a little rough, presaging the way his hips jerk forward a few seconds later as he comes hard, purely selfish for a long moment in a way Nick's never seen him before._ _

__Every aspect of this moment is a way Nick has never seen him before, and it's new and blinding and overwhelming in ways Nick's not sure he wants to admit._ _

__Brandon sags back against the bed and sits down, a little harder than he probably intended to, Nick thinks._ _

__"Whoa," Brandon says, almost under his breath. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is open, panting a little still, and he's flushed pink from his cheeks right down his neck and chest, enough that Nick can see the tiny smudges at his hip where Nick has left bruises with how tight he was holding on. "That. Wow. Leds."_ _

__Nick bites his own lip and tries to get a grip on himself. Just because he wants to throw himself on Brandon and see where the rest of the day takes them doesn't mean it's a good idea. Doesn't mean he should even push any further right now. This has to be up to Brandon, and he doesn't want to overwhelm him._ _

__Well. That's not all of it, Nick thinks, uncomfortably aware of how turned on he is, of how this means much more than it should to him._ _

__He doesn't want to put Brandon in a position where he pushes Nick away, either._ _

__Nick can handle being Brandon's experiment, his attempt to find out for sure whether he's curious or actually into guys, but he doesn't want to find out what it's like to offer himself up to Brandon—and have him turn him down._ _

__Nick's been shot down a bunch of times, and normally he doesn't get hung up on it. But he's been hung up on Brandon basically since they met, and it would be ridiculous to tell himself anything different at this point._ _

__"So," Nick says, aware he's looking at his feet instead of at Brandon, but not quite able to do anything to change that yet. "How was, uh. How was that, for you?"_ _

__Brandon laughs, a little unsteady, and Nick's shoulders tighten, his stomach twisting. That's really about the worst possible response, isn't it?_ _

__"I—oh god, Nick, no, I'm not. I can't believe you had to ask."_ _

__Nick does look up at that. He's not sure what Brandon's trying to say._ _

__Brandon's gaze is steady, and while he's still got that hectic flush in his cheeks, he looks calmer than he did a few seconds ago. "I mean, that was amazing. I don't think my brain's working again yet, fuck. You, um. Blew my mind." He laughs at himself a little, but then sobers again. "I liked that, uh. A lot. And I'm not sure why you're all the way over there."_ _

__"Oh," Nick says, a little dumbly. "I didn't. I mean, no pressure, you know?"_ _

__"What part of 'okay, let's have sex' did you think meant I wasn't gonna reciprocate?" Brandon asks. "I mean, sure, I appreciate it, but I'm not—just because I haven't done anything much with guys before this doesn't mean I don't want to."_ _

__"Oh," Nick says again. "Sorry?" He's not sure that's the right thing to say either, and he doesn't know what's wrong with him, he's got everything he wants on a silver platter right in front of him, Brandon asking him to come to bed, and he's not entirely sure why he's still standing on the other side of the damn room._ _

__"Do you not want to—?" Brandon asks, looking uncertain. He's chewing on his lower lip, and Nick shouldn't really be finding that kind of hot, but he is._ _

__"Of course I do," Nick says, not letting himself stop to second-guess it. He'd be hard pressed to think of anything he wants more, right then._ _

__"Then come here," Brandon says, his gaze steady, not giving Nick anywhere to retreat._ _

__Nick tells himself to just get out of his own way already, before he can mess this up any further, and then his feet are carrying him over to the bed. Brandon's hands are steady when they come up to cradle his hips, thumbs pressing into the bare skin exposed where his shirt has ridden up, his shorts starting to slide down. Brandon's hands are warm and dry, and they feel good, his thumbs rubbing tiny spirals into Nick's skin, soothing._ _

__"How do you want—?" Nick starts to ask._ _

__His mouth feels dry again, and when he swallows to try and sound normal again, all he can taste is what they were just doing. It's not exactly doing much to help him stay cool, not when he's hard and starting to slip towards desperate, Brandon's hands close and yet not close enough._ _

__"I don't think I'm quite up to trying the advanced class yet," Brandon says, trying to joke, and Nick's heart twists. It's not that he'd ever really let himself imagine, not seriously, but he would've always figured that Brandon would be exactly the same in bed as he is out of it—kind of dorky, kind of earnest, and making dumb jokes to make Nick smile. He's happy to be right about that, at least. "You should, hrm. Naked might be a good start?"_ _

__As if he's illustrating his words, Brandon's hand drifts down, over. His palm is warm and not at all hesitant as he brushes it over the outside of Nick's pants, the heel of his hand pressing in familiarly, like he's tracing the shape and weight, testing the limits of Nick's arousal just like he's testing his own._ _

__Nick could probably get off just from watching Brandon do that, which should definitely be embarrassing._ _

__"I can do naked," Nick offers. "Uh, you have to move your hand first, though."_ _

__"I've got it," Brandon says, and there's a second where Nick regrets that, the warmth of his hand vanishing while he brings both hands in to tug at the button on Nick's jeans, but the tiny satisfied sound he makes when he gets them unfastened—purely involuntary, and Nick doesn't think Brandon even realized he'd done anything—is just as rewarding. He's careful as he tugs the zipper down, peels Nick's jeans down his thighs and then goes back for his briefs, brows drawn together fractionally as he concentrates, as he carefully gets Nick's dick out._ _

__"You have a really nice dick," Brandon tells him—tells his dick, really, because Brandon hasn't looked away from it yet, is tracing his index finger gently along the length, thumb brushing over the circumcision scar, featherlight._ _

__"Thanks?" Nick says, sounding a little strangled, despite his desire to at least try to act like he's playing it cool. He keeps holding his breath without meaning to, but it's hard to focus or to keep his breathing steady when Brandon keeps looking at him like that. Keeps touching him._ _

__"No, really," Brandon says, still touching him, fingertips skidding over the crown, slipping a little in the pre-come that Nick's starting to leak. "I mean. You probably get this all the time, just. I like it."_ _

__Nick's not sure whether Brandon means he gets people looking at him—has Brandon been looking at his dick before then?—or touching him, but he probably shouldn't ask him to specify. That seems counter-productive, and more self-absorbed than he'd like to sound right now. And anyway, if Brandon's been looking, why didn't Nick notice? Why hasn't Nick got to spend more time looking at him? He's definitely going to go for seconds if Brandon's up for it._ _

__"I'm, um. Glad to hear that?"_ _

__Brandon looks up then, and crooks another grin at Nick. "Sorry, was that—? Too much?"_ _

__Nick doesn't know how to answer that. There's the truth, and then there's playing this casual, and then there's got to be some kind of third option he can't even think of right then._ _

__Luckily, Brandon doesn't seem to be waiting for an answer, because he cups his hand over Nick's dick, squeezes gently, just enough to tear another breathless moan from Nick's throat before he shoves lightly at his hip and says, "Get on the bed, Leds."_ _

__"Oh, right," Nick says, stupidly, and he blinks a couple of times before remembering how to move his limbs._ _

__There's no non-awkward way to climb onto a mattress with a boner, but Nick figures he's managed the closest possible approach to doing that with dignity, scoots over so that he's sitting beside and just behind Brandon. Brandon seems to be completely blase about his own nakedness by then—to be fair, they do both spend a lot of time changing around other guys, so that part can't be all that new for him. The part where Nick's obviously turned on is the thing that makes this unusual._ _

__Well, that and the smears of dried come around Brandon's dick and on his thighs, where Nick hadn't entirely managed to clean him up before. Brandon seems completely unselfconscious about that, though, scratches at his stomach without thinking twice, and Nick can see that his dick is starting to perk up again, too, not quite as soft as he'd been when Nick had sat back, let it slip out of his mouth._ _

__That was probably a good sign too: that touching Nick was turning _Brandon_ on, that it wasn't just the completely predictable reaction to someone, anyone sucking his dick. Nick was going to let himself feel cautiously optimistic about the odds of getting an orgasm out of this without losing a friendship._ _

__"That's better," Brandon says, with some satisfaction, and then he scoots back on the mattress himself, before getting up on his knees and turning to face Nick, straddling his thighs and looking down at him._ _

__"I can—this is okay, right?" Brandon asks, and leans in to kiss him again._ _

__Whatever Nick might have been planning to reply was swallowed neatly, and he lets himself go head first, all in on the kiss, mouth open to Brandon's, kissing him back enthusiastically. Brandon's hands are warm and gentle on his face, one slowly drifting down the column of his neck, fingertips tracing over the jut of his collarbone, along the tendon, and then down towards his nipple. He flattens his palm over Nick's chest, lets his hand keep sliding down, over his ribs where he's ticklish, down towards his waist._ _

__Nick keeps his eyes closed tight and tries to just think about how much he's enjoying kissing Brandon, how good his weight feels, pressing Nick down into the mattress, making his thighs start to go a little numb, in the nicest possible way. He doesn't need anything more than this, this can be enough. If this turns out to be everything, he has to be okay with that._ _

__Brandon's teeth drag over Nick's lower lip, not even close to pain, but it's intense, sharp, a newer sensation, and Nick's eyes fly open automatically._ _

__"Hey," Brandon says softly. "This is okay, right?"_ _

__"Yeah," Nick says honestly. His voice isn't much louder than Brandon's, it seems somehow wrong to disturb the still air and the quiet. "This is good."_ _

__"…better?" Brandon asks, and Nick has time to blink precisely once, wondering what Brandon means, and then Brandon's hand drops into Nick's lap, confident and unhesitating, fingers wrapped tight around his dick as he starts to move._ _

__Nick hopes the way he inhales sharply and then groans is enough of an answer, because he doesn't have much more than that. Something about doing this with Brandon is short-circuiting his brain, and if he's ever been remotely together while having sex, he sure isn't this time._ _

__Brandon must get enough of that memo, because he gives Nick a delighted, ever-so-slightly smug grin, and then leans in again to press their mouths together. This kiss is fiercer, faster, demanding more than asking, and Nick concedes without a single qualm, just lets Brandon take the lead as long as he wants it._ _

__After a couple of seconds Brandon makes an impatient noise and pulls away from Nick, lets go of his dick just long enough to spit into his palm before starting to jerk Nick off again, and all that Nick can do is hiss, "Fuck," and try to keep breathing. He's so tense, so wound up that his hands are shaking, his heart racing and echoing in his ears, simultaneously too loud and far away._ _

__"Can I try this—?" Brandon asks him quietly, and when Nick just blinks at him, Brandon gets a hand on his chest, pushes gently at his sternum until Nick catches up with the play and lets himself lay back on the bed, looking up at Brandon._ _

__"Go nuts," Nick invites him, although the accompanying smile is shakier than he'd like. He hadn't expected it to feel this good, but apparently he's just that easy for Brandon._ _

__Brandon shifts his weight, settles again, tightens his grip. Nick swallows a moan and bites his lip, trying to stay in the moment, to be able to remember this, to appreciate it._ _

__"Okay," Brandon says carefully, and his brows are drawn together in a slight frown. Nick would ask what he's worried about, but he doesn't need to, because Brandon sits up and shuffles back a couple feet and then it becomes absolutely clear what he's planning on trying._ _

__"Fuck," Nick says, eyes widening. "I—you don't have to, Saader, that was—"_ _

__"I want to," Brandon says stubbornly, jaw set, somewhere between nervous and cocky. "But, like, feel free to pass on any hints."_ _

__Nick's not sure he could come up with _hints_ about blowjobs at the best of times; when Brandon's licking cautiously up the length of his dick before closing his lips around the head and starting to suck—well, safe to say his ability to do anything more complicated than lie there and try to breathe is minimal at best. He never expected this whole fake dating thing to end with Brandon's mouth on his dick and, well, there he is._ _

__"Oh god," Nick says under his breath, and he has to close his eyes, because if he keeps watching Brandon _suck his dick_ then he's going to come in a hot second, and he'd like to be vaguely considerate about it, if this is what's happening._ _

__Brandon's unpracticed, sure, and he's definitely trying a few different things, goes too far and makes himself gag a time or two as well, but it's still good, the enthusiasm doing just as much for Nick as the heat of his mouth. Nick can't quite help himself after a few minutes and he reaches down, pushes his fingers into Brandon's hair, tugging lightly._ _

__"Saader, fuck, fuck," Nick says. "You're so, oh god, that's good, babe."_ _

__"Mm?" Brandon says, looking up at him, but not actually pulling off, the vibration of his lips against Nick's cock so good it's almost painful, and Nick sucks in a deep breath, fast._ _

__"You're, oh fuck, please, this is so—" Nick tries to say, but holding eye contact with someone mid-blowjob feels _weird_ and it's throwing both of them off-kilter, so after a moment of trying and failing to put anything more comprehensible together Nick screws his eyes closed again and just rubs his thumb lightly over Brandon's cheek, presses in enough that he can feel it, the obscene push of his dick into the wet heat of Brandon's mouth._ _

__He's breathing much too fast, and shallowly, enough that it's hard to hear the slick wet sounds of Brandon touching him over his own breath, over the way his heartbeat is pounding in his ears, and Nick gives up entirely on any kind of dignity and lets himself shake apart. He manages to gasp out a warning a couple of seconds before he comes, and like Nick was kind of suspecting he would, Brandon stubbornly stays down there, cradled between Nick's thighs, shoulders firm between Nick's knees as he arches up and tenses all over._ _

__Nick crashes back to earth a lot faster than usual, too worried about whether it was good enough for Brandon—that he hasn't scared him off—to really enjoy the afterglow. When he wrestles his eyes open again it's to see Brandon's head resting against Nick's thigh, sprawled out on his back beside Nick now, like he'd just rolled straight off once he was done._ _

__Brandon's the one breathing fast this time, his mouth open, lips shiny and wet from his own saliva and Nick's come, a matching sheen on his cheek and—Nick cranes his neck, doesn't even bother trying not to find it kind of hot—down the side of his throat, too. Brandon's biting at the back of his own hand, the other pressed firmly over his own dick, like he's trying to—Nick's not sure, really._ _

__Brandon realizes Nick's looking at him and flushes a deeper pink, but he also takes his hand out of his mouth—Nick sees the teethmarks just under his knuckles and feels his stomach twist, wanting—and speaks, low and shuddery. "That was, holy shit, that was better than I imagined. Oh my god."_ _

__Nick's flattered, and also more than a little relieved if he's being honest._ _

__He's pretty sure they can chalk this up to 'definitely into guys, definitely— _definitely_ —into dick', no two ways about it. Trust Brandon to go zero to sixty on this whole thing, Nick thinks. When he knows what he wants and goes this hard for it, it seems like it works out for him pretty much every time. _ _

__And he's absolutely pleased and more than a little smug to know that he's always going to have been the first guy whose dick Brandon sucked. Maybe that makes him kind of a possessive asshole, but if Nick doesn't tell anyone then no one else has to know. And it's going to be safer to never tell anyone this part, because whether this is the start of something or the end of it, it's going to be more trouble than it's worth to explain to anyone who knows them. Besides all that, it's definitely not like Nick wants to share this. This is just for him and Brandon. It means too much to be anything else._ _

__And maybe he just wants to hug these memories to himself forever anyway, jealous and greedy, keeping the warmth of this secret as a bright ember._ _

__"You okay there, bud?" Nick asks, a bare second later, managing to not actually say any of the incredibly inappropriate thoughts he's having. He can be considerate and possessive as fuck, thanks._ _

__"I, uh," Brandon says, biting his lip instead and then sighing. "Wasn't expecting it to be this hot."_ _

__Nick's not sure whether to be flattered or mildly insulted. "Thanks?"_ _

__Brandon just groans, and then says, "Just give me a minute, I'll be-I'll make more sense after, fuck."_ _

__Nick narrows his eyes, and then glances down again, to Brandon's hand moving on his own dick, and his brain catches up again in a hurry._ _

__"Oh," Nick says, and then, "I can—would you let me?"_ _

__"Hmm?" Brandon says, but when Nick rolls onto his side and reaches down, gets his hand back back on Brandon's dick, covering Brandon's hand, tightening and moving their joint grip faster, Brandon just lets his head fall back onto the mattress and makes a pleased sound._ _

__"You're so good at that," Brandon says, sounding sleepy and satisfied, his back arching while his hips try to rise up, thrusting into Nick's grip. He lets go after a couple of seconds, letting Nick take over, just making soft pleased sounds as Nick jerks him off._ _

__Nick looks down to watch his hand move for a while, and it's almost hypnotic, almost like it's not even his own hand, like he's watching someone else do this._ _

__"It's easy when you're good," he says, a little nonsensically, but Brandon grins at him, easy as anything._ _

__"Not gonna take much," Brandon warns him, chasing Nick's touch as he squirms, biting his own lip again._ _

__Nick looks over at him, mouth bitten red, lips parted, panting and feels a surge of want. And then he thinks, well, fuck it; Brandon's been up for everything else so far._ _

__"How do you feel about kissing more?" Nick asks, and now he's looking at Brandon's mouth again it's like he can't stop._ _

__Brandon's apparently looking right back, because he doesn't miss a beat before replying, "Positively? Yeah, fuck, c'mon Leds."_ _

__Nick doesn't need that invitation twice, and he rolls back on top of Brandon, leaning in to press their mouths together, trying to find the right angle so their teeth don't click and so they can both still breathe. It takes a little bit of adjustment—Nick really wasn't lined up right to start with—but then it just works, and Brandon's gasping into Nick's mouth as he keeps his hand moving on Brandon's dick, not letting up._ _

__Brandon's a more confident kisser than he has been in anything else they've done so far—which makes sense, Nick figures; he's probably kissed a lot of people, that much at least can't be all that new to him. Nick's wrist is starting to complain a little; if he was going to try and jerk someone off while making out then there are other positions that might have been slightly smarter, but he's committed to this and he's not going to punk out now._ _

__Brandon stiffens and then goes very still under Nick, tense all over, eyes screwed tightly closed. Nick sits up a little more, pulls away from the kiss so he can watch Brandon come again, see the way he spills over Nick's hand and onto his own stomach, messy and careless._ _

__"Fuck, that's hot," Nick breathes, letting go of Brandon's dick when he flinches and tries to pull away, too sensitive to let Nick keep touching him._ _

__"Mmmmph," Brandon says, limp and sinking back into the mattress, eyes still closed, looking sweaty and wrung-out._ _

__Nick lets himself keep looking, who knows if he's going to get another chance to do so, and Brandon's so soft and easy with him, completely at his mercy and apparently perfectly comfortable with that._ _

__"What're you doing?" Brandon mumbles a moment later, still not bothering to open his eyes._ _

__Nick starts guiltily, and then reminds himself he's allowed to look, he's not doing anything he shouldn't be._ _

__"Thinking?" he says, letting his tone go up uncertainly at the end without quite meaning to._ _

__"You can do that down here," Brandon says, and reaches out blindly._ _

___Oh_ , Nick thinks. He wants Nick to—well, cuddling sounds a bit more sentimental than Nick would prefer to phrase it._ _

__It also sounds really good, and Nick's not going to cut off his nose to spite his face; he shuffles down the bed and stretches out, wriggles closer so that he's pressed all along Brandon's side, leaning in to his warmth, all too aware of the length of bare skin that he's touching; sweaty and sticky and messy and so, so warm. Nick curls closer and lets his eyes close, too. It's nice._ _

__He can have this for now, and he can have this memory for later and it's just—_ _

__It's nice._ _

__* * *_ _

__Brandon doesn't think he's actually dozed off in the end, despite coming twice in pretty quick succession, but he and Nick have been sprawled out in his bed for a while now, just breathing quietly in the aftermath. He'd like to nap some time soon at least, but he's a little worried that if he falls asleep before they get a chance to talk some more then Nick'll vanish and things will be even more awkward and awful than they could otherwise be._ _

__So far, this has all gone even better than he might have imagined, and he's got no interest in breaking that streak, either._ _

__Nick's breath is warm on the side of Brandon's shoulder, humid where his mouth is half-pressed to the curve of his delts. Brandon actually doesn't want to move for a week—that might be long enough to get used to this—but he knows they're going to have to soon, for food if nothing else. And they're both still going to have to head back to their families for the holiday; as nice as it is to have this moment time is ticking away on them._ _

__"So that was good, huh?" Brandon says, words falling into the quiet. Nick tenses a little against him, but relaxes pretty fast when Brandon stretches enough to run his fingertips along the length of Nick's spine, soothing and affectionate. He wants to touch Nick all over, and it's making him giddy that he's more and more certain that Nick'd let him do it. That Nick will _like_ it. _ _

__"Definitely not bad for a first time," Nick says, and then he half sits up, eyes wide, looking apologetically down at Brandon. "Uh, I meant for, like. For us. Not for you, that wasn't, I mean. Uh. Help?"_ _

__Brandon laughs at him for a second, can't help it, but he sits up and gives Nick a reassuring nod, pats his hip. "I know what you mean. I mean, okay, sure, it was a little overwhelming and I might need some more practice, but—"_ _

__"Uh, you can practice that with me any day," Nick interrupts, emphatically, and then they both have to stop and grin stupidly at each other for a little while._ _

__"Thanks," Brandon says, and Nick looks down at the bed, reaches over to take Brandon's hand and threads their fingers together, squeezes his hand. "It was really hot, okay, Saader?"_ _

__Nick's looking at him so seriously, and for once Brandon doesn't want to back away from that overwhelming sincerity, can feel his own footing steady underneath him, an adamantium-hard certainty that he's doing the right thing. He's pretty sure he's still blushing though, his cheeks on fire with the way that Nick's praise makes him want to glow, makes him want to roll around in the affectionate way Nick touches him and the pride evident in his voice when he says how much he wants all of this._ _

__Fuck, Brandon is so goddamn gone for him._ _

__"We're doing this a lot more, right?" Brandon says, squeezing Nick's hand right back._ _

__"Yeah, I think so," Nick says. "I mean, I'm not—unless you're feeling an overwhelming desire to go out and try this with other people instead."_ _

__That's pretty much the opposite of what Brandon wants._ _

__"Here's good," Brandon says._ _

__He looks at Nick for a beat longer._ _

__"I'm just checking," Nick says slowly, "But, uh. You wanna do this for real then, Saader?"_ _

__Brandon blinks. "As opposed to—?"_ _

__Nick shrugs. "Kinda hard to tell sometimes, you know? We, um. Weren't just checking how you feel about sleeping with guys in general, right?"_ _

__Brandon punches his thigh, hard enough that Nick winces. "Yeah, no, this was about sleeping with _you_ , Leds. Come on."_ _

__"Oh," Nick says. Adds, a little giddily. "Good."_ _

__Brandon shoves him a little more, because fuck, Nick needs to give himself more credit sometimes. Brandon's been so obvious about him, how could he miss this? "No kidding," he says. "And now we've got that sorted out, can we agree we're never actually telling anyone how long this took us to figure out and take a nap or something?"_ _

__"Sounds good to me," Nick says, grinning easily at Brandon, the sheer affection in his tone making his stomach swoop in the most pleasant way possible._ _

"I bet we can get another practice in before you have to get back to Minnesota, too," Brandon adds, feeling a little daring, not breaking eye contact. Yeah, maybe they're not going to nap after all, he thinks, as Nick half-tackles him onto his back, hands drifting confidently over Brandon's skin. Nick's mouth is pressed to Brandon's, open and easy and so, so good. If this is what they can do together, then this is all Brandon's going to need.

And people say internet dating never works. 

-fin-


End file.
